


Player 2 Is Ready

by AlreadyPainfullyGone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Dom/sub Play, Homophobia, M/M, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:39:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlreadyPainfullyGone/pseuds/AlreadyPainfullyGone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Dean and Cas meet in an online, multiplayer game. Both of them are hiding who they really are - Castiel, ashamed of being so small and yet still a dominant, and Dean, who always gets taken for a top, but who is actually submissive. </p>
<p>Little do they know, they live in the same town, they're just at different schools.</p>
<p>(Posted all at once as it was removed from Ff.net a while ago, and I wanted to make it available again).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Player 2 Is Ready

*Chapter 1*:  
"Dean!" Sam bangs on the locked door of the entertainment room for the fifth time. "It's my turn! Quit hogging the games!"  
"In a minute." Dean yells back, about half a second after he really should have.  
Sam kicks the door. If he didn't know better, and if the computer wasn't downstairs, he'd swear his brother was looking up porn. But the only things in the  
entertainment room are the games consoles and that plastic rockband thing that Dean had hogged like his typical self since they'd gotten it.  
Whatever, Sam just wanted to play Elder Scrolls in peace.  
He sighs and goes to his room to read about penguins.  
(-*-)  
Today, Dean is in an enchanted cave.  
Sure, yesterday it was a crack den on Saint's Row, and tomorrow it might be a lab in Aperture Science (again) but, today, it's a cave.  
Because it's Thursday, which means its TarredAngel's turn to choose their destination.  
It's not like Dean minds, he's not really in a cave. He's sprawled on a sofa, comfortably propped up, with his school shirt undone, blazer on the floor. One hand is  
pulling on the tie he's looped around his throat, the other is down his pants.  
The soft voice in his headset tells him to pull tighter, but to stop stroking himself.  
Dean complies with a whine.  
"You told me you'd been bad." The voice reminds him.  
"Not this bad." Dean manages to get out. He's trying to be quiet, especially because his little brother could still be out there, pouting up a storm.  
"Bad is bad, Blackdog."  
On the screen, their avatars are motionless. Dean's warrior and Angel's black furred Katzen. The lack of motion is exciting, it means Angel's hands are also  
busy.  
Dean's breath is coming in sharp little gasps, the tie tight and silky against his straining throat. "Please..."  
"You're not going to go near that girl again." Angel tells him.  
"No...sir..."  
"You know what'll happen if you do?"  
"...No..." Dean closes his eyes, he's so close, to fucking close and he's not even touching himself. It's just...Angel's voice filtering through the crackling  
headphones, and he's shifting in his seat, thrusting at air, because he needs this, needs it so fucking badly that he can't think.  
"Touch yourself again."  
Dean complies with a bitten off cry, hand finding the heavy erection that's been lolling from the open front of his black, school pants.  
"If you give in...to temptation, at school, again." Angel says slowly, breathlessly, and Dean can only bite his lip when he thinks of Angel pleasuring himself at the  
other end of the line, a universe away. "I will personally find you, and tie you down...and use you...like the whore you clearly are."  
Dean comes, gasping, pulling on the tie, arching up and feeling his body burn with the strain, damp with sweat.  
From the deep, satisfied sound in his ears, Angel has also reached the limits of endurance.  
"Same time tomorrow?" Dean asks eventually.  
Angel pauses for just long enough to scare Dean, before answering. "Yes. Dante's Inferno, ninth circle."  
"I'll be there."  
"I know." Angel says, and goes offline, just like that.  
Dean cleans himself up. Opens the curtains, and a window, and takes his wadded up Kleenexes to the bathroom to dispose of. Then he goes to his room, and  
flops down on his bed, listening to Sam bitch about wanting to play on the Xbox as his younger brother clomps up the stairs and into the game room.  
Dean feels a little guilty about jerking off where his little brother plays Mario Hay Ride or whatever, but...he's not giving up Angel for anything.  
And he knows, ok? He knows that strangers online are dangerous, and that there's a huge chance that Angel is a...40 year old creep with a hard-on for  
teenagers, or that he's a psycho-killer-rapist, or a cult leader. Dean knows...and he doesn't care – because, the way Angel talks to him is...better than anything  
else. It's practically addictive.  
And, Dean had reason to believe that Angel was of a lower, less creepy age range. From the way he talks, the words he uses and the references he does and  
does not get – Dean would judge his age to be around 20, maybe of the upper twenties.  
And Dean's seventeen. He can choose his own friends.  
Not that he'd really call Angel a friend.  
But...the words he uses in his own head don't translate to the world around him. He can't have a master, and still need to do homework, and talk to Sammy. It's  
too...weird.  
(-*-)  
Castiel rests his forehead against the blank computer screen.  
He already misses blackdog, but...unfortunately, his life rolls on outside of the small worlds he would otherwise choose to inhabit.  
"Castiel!" Luc bangs on the door of Castiel's closet sized room. "I don't pay you to sit around touching your junk."  
Castiel flushes and flicks the used tissue off of his desk, into the waste paper basket. Luc, his older brother, thinks that Castiel spends his downtime either  
putting together new parts for his dilapidated old computer, selling stuff on ebay, or looking for porn.  
Castiel is in no hurry to disabuse him of the notion.  
In fact, Castiel is just 2,000 dollars short of his first years college tuition. He's almost eighteen and, if he can put together a working laptop and sell some more  
stuff online, he'll be able to make his course in Computer Technology.  
Why ruin all that with Luc going ape-shit over a little harmless fun.  
Castiel is aware of the dangers of his...habit. But, there is something so delicious in being able to tuck his skinny, pale self aside in this dark little room – and  
go out into a bright, limitless world, where he can find people like him, boys just like himself.  
There are no 'out' gay guys at Castiel's school, and he doesn't know any way of meeting them that isn't in chat space, or in his games.  
Besides, even if he did, Castiel knows how some gay guys see him, a little, pale twinky boy, with an ass just perfect for abusing.  
But Castiel is not like that, at all. And there is nowhere he can be taken seriously as a top, as powerful and in control, that is not the internet. Where no one can  
see him, and no one knows his name.  
He'd made several attempts at meeting men online, but most had failed. They either wanted sex, which he wouldn't provide as he would never meet them, or  
they wanted a relationship, and Castiel wasn't interested in that either.  
Then, blackdog.  
He was...strangely perfect. Castiel had met him in an online action RPG and they'd quested for a while. Blackdog favoured heavy weaponry and frontal  
assaults, whereas Castiel enjoyed stealth and magic. They made a good team.  
Castiel had asked if they could chat over the com system, and blackdog had agreed, before appearing in Castiel's headphones, a sweet, deep voice that got  
his attention more surely than any filthy picture.  
Three hours later he'd asked, bluntly, if blackdog wanted to get off.  
Castiel had heard the wetting of lips distinctly, the rush of breath before. "Yeah..." came down the line.  
They never asked questions, never mentioned meeting, and Castiel was always sure that blackdog would be where he told him to be, doing what he told him to  
do. Which gave him no end of satisfaction.  
With a sigh, Castiel opened his door, and went out into the apartment, then downstairs into Luc's chaotic store. He was supposed to be waiting on customers,  
but no one had been in for hours, so Castiel had taken a break to check up on blackdog. He'd found out that blackdog had kissed a girl at school, and...things  
had gotten away from him there, he'd been too wrapped up in his role as confidant, confessor and task master to process the time getting away from him.  
Luc cuffed his head. "Stay there, until I say you're off the clock."  
"I have homework." Castiel muttered.  
"Do it there then." Luc called, from where he was shelving fresh stock.  
Castiel took out his notebook and started on his math. He wished, more than anything, that he were living at home, with his parents, but they'd been away for  
over a year, doing missionary work overseas. He missed them, almost every day.  
But secretly, he was almost glad to be free, or at least as free as Luc allowed him to be.  
A few more months, then, college, single guys...he'd be normal then – able to date. Maybe he'd even grow a little, looking less like a weedy bottom, and more  
like someone who could easily hold someone down, and take them apart.  
But, for now, he had blackdog, and what felt like all the time in the world.  
*Chapter 2*:  
Dean crumpled the card in his pocket with damp fingers.  
His parents were going to kill him.  
Actually, his Dad was going to kill him. His Mom would just look at him with her face all disappointed, and shake her head because she can't understand what  
her good little honour student was doing with a report card covered in D's (and one, terrible F). Sam was going to look all creased up and sorry, but that just  
made Dean feel worse – his little brother got better grades than him these days.  
Dean knew exactly what he was doing so badly. He'd been dashing his homework assignments off in the library between classes, and he'd been going to sleep  
later and later these last few weeks. He'd come home, not do his homework, and shut himself away with the xbox, he'd only come out when Sam started  
rapping on the door. Then he'd have dinner, lie around the living room watching TV and feeling tired from coming, sometimes twice in a row.  
And after his parents and Sam went to bed, Dean would go back to the game room and turn the xbox back on.  
It wasn't like it was Angel's fault though. He never asked Dean to be online that late, but...it made Dean happy to know that he was pleasing him by showing up.  
Dean walked along, passing the convenience store, the drug store and the closed down movie theatre. He'd taken the long way home, the best to put off  
handing his report card over to his parents. There were three streets left to go down, and the end of the one he was on came in the form of Novak Electricals.  
Dean stopped and looked in the window at the dingy display. The whole store looked run down, but it was open, and the window had a display of old looking  
monitors and modems. A small, hand lettered sign offered 'Second Hand Games'.  
Dean pushed the door open and went inside.  
(-*-)  
Castiel didn't look up as the door opened, the bell over it rang, and someone shuffled into the store.  
Castiel fixed his attention on the modem he was trying to piece back together. Luc was on a break, cleaning up wires and bits of circuit board in the back room.  
Castiel had the modem to fix, and then he could go online – and meet blackdog. He had only about fifteen minutes, and he wanted some time to get things  
ready. Customers were not what he wanted right now.  
He glanced up, and almost groaned inwardly. Figures. A Matherson Prep student. He'd recognise the green blazer anywhere. The assholes hung around the  
gates of his own school, the public eyesore on the other side of town, and made trouble with the poor students after classes. Castiel had been spared the  
indignity because he was on suspension for the week after three Matherson boys had beaten one of his classmates up after school, and Castiel had tried to  
intervene. Stupid, he knew it at the time, but he couldn't help it. Sometimes he forgot that he was useless out in the real world.  
The Matherson guy turns to look at some of the game displays. Castiel watches him, waiting for the taunting, the intimidation. But it doesn't come. Maybe the  
guy has no idea that Castiel is from the Green Bank Public School. It doesn't make Castiel like him any more though – Matherson kids were all the same – rich,  
entitled and pushy.  
"Just this, please." The guy says, placing a game box on the counter. Castiel doesn't even look at it, they all cost the same.  
"Ten bucks."  
The guy hands over the money, a crisp, fresh note. Castiel glances up at him while he's sliding the box into a plastic bag. Cute, tanned, green eyes and fussy  
blondish hair. Straight as an arrow. Hot and knowing it. Asshole.  
He hands over the bag, he wasn't going to say anything to piss him off, the guy looked like he could probably take three of Castiel, but he allowed himself a  
glare as he ended the transaction.  
"Thanks." Matherson-Prep muttered.  
A jingle of the bell and the guy's gone, out into the summer air and probably on his way home to a home cooked meal and more electronic playware than  
Castiel's room and the store combined.  
He calls through to tell Luc that he's done for the day, then runs upstairs before his brother can give him some other task to do. Blackdog's going to be online,  
and Castiel isn't going to waste any of the time they have left together.  
(-*-)  
Dean's still thinking about the glare the Novak store kid had given him when he turns onto his own street.  
He's never had any trouble with the Green Bank guys before, even though they all look like they wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire. But...that guy had looked  
at him like he loathed him. And Dean hated feeling like that, especially when he hadn't done anything.  
His mood doesn't improve when he gets home and hands over the report card. Really, all he wants to do is go upstairs and ask Angel if he owns 'Cleric' the  
historic assassination game. At least then they'll have somewhere new to do it.  
Not that they were doing anything.  
It confused Dean a lot, what he had going with Angel. It felt like...like something real, and hot and private. Like Angel wouldn't do it for anyone else but him, just  
like Dean wouldn't do half the things Angel had gotten him to do to himself, for anyone else. It felt like a lot more than jerking off, to porn, or with some stranger  
he'd met that day on a game.  
Angel wasn't a stranger, and he wasn't just...some other dude to fantasise with. What they did was real...and still, not entirely real. Like it hovered between  
meaning nothing, and meaning everything.  
Dean watched his Dad's face cloud over as he read the report card.  
"D's? You got D's in English, Science and History? You got all A's less than three months ago."  
"It...got harder?" Dean winced at his own lameness.  
"Got harder? You're not dumb Dean, study. When was the last time I saw you do homework? This says you haven't even been paying attention in class. That  
you fell asleep?" His Dad reads incredulously.  
Oh right, that.  
"It was...a hot day and...I hadn't had a lot of sleep." Dean says. "It was only once, and I didn't miss anything...it's not a big deal."  
"You fell asleep in Math class. And you got an F, in Math. How is that not a big deal?" His father yelled.  
"John..." Mary cut in. "I'm sure Dean's trying, he's just...had a hard semester so far, right honey?"  
"Maybe." Dean muttered.  
"Well, he's losing his privileges until he brings his grades up." John says, pinning the report card to the notice board in the kitchen with more force than  
necessary. "No TV, no weekday nights with friends..."  
That almost made Dean laugh, he'd been making excuses not to hang out with his friends for weeks.  
"...no xbox."  
He'd known it was coming, and still Dean feels his stomach flip.  
"Dad...please can I at least keep the xbox? I'll work harder, I promise, just, let me have some fun."  
"Read a book, you might improve your English." John told him, unwavering.  
Dean sighed. "Ok, but just for tonight..."  
"Tonight you can go study, I mean it. Until dinner I don't want to hear a sound from your room, except pages turning."  
Dean felt his dad's glare on him the whole way up the stairs. He felt helpless. Angel was going to be waiting for him, and Dean couldn't get online, even to tell  
him that he was sorry for not being around. He wasn't scared that Angel would be angry, the possibility lit up his stomach with a kind of nervous excitement.  
He was worried that Angel would find someone else, someone whose parents didn't control their lives.  
Dean opened a book and sprawled on his bed, unable to focus even after five minutes of struggling with the history text. He'd been waiting all day to talk to  
Angel, to meet up with him, and now that he couldn't, a frustrated ache was making him fidgety and distracting him. A small part of him knew that he could get  
his relief without Angel just fine. But the rest of him wanted the connection that he and Angel had.  
Dean glared down at the book hopelessly.  
He was so fucked up.  
(-*-)  
Castiel glared at the screen.  
Blackdog wasn't online.  
Just like he hadn't been online for the last two hours.  
Castiel leant one cheek on his hand and put the controller to one side. He was bored out of his mind. He couldn't move, in case Blackdog decided to show up,  
and there wasn't really much else to do in his room. A few books that he'd read too many times already, and a computer that didn't really work right.  
After a while he left the desk chair and laid down on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. Blackdog had disappointed him, and Castiel felt a kind of...furious  
disbelief at that. Blackdog was his, and he knew that the other boy knew that. Respected his ownership, and got off on it. Why then this disobedience? Perhaps  
something was preventing him from finding his way to Castiel.  
Perhaps he had become tired of him.  
That was the fear at the heart of Castiel's unease. He had been waiting for the day that Blackdog would find someone else to...to what? What was it that they  
were doing? It was practically nothing, they'd never even touched. And yet Castiel felt a kind of intimacy had grown between them since that first time. An  
understanding and...almost, perhaps, a relationship.  
Clearly, he had been mistaken.  
And Castiel hated being wrong, hated especially when he made a fool out of himself.  
The xbox home page pings up a notification, and Castiel sits up, immediately going to check.  
It's a message from Blackdog. A cell phone number.  
Castiel looks at the string of digits dubiously. Clearly, Blackdog wants to talk to him, but outside of their comfortable routine of online liaisons.  
It doesn't seem like a good idea – inviting a stranger further into his life, his real life.  
Still, Castiel doesn't hesitate more than a half a minute before picking up his cell, and dialling.  
*Chapter 3*:  
"You kept me waiting."  
Dean shivers and lies back on his bed, eyes flying to the door to check that it's locked. "I know, I'm so sorry...my parents..."  
"I don't want your excuses."  
Dean clams up.  
"...I want you, to tell me what you're wearing."  
He relaxes into the sound of Angel's voice. As cold as the words are, the tone that they're wrapped in is warm and inviting as a hand stroking down his spine.  
"My uniform." Dean knows how much Angel likes his uniform, though he hasn't told him what colour it is, that would give too much away.  
"Good." Angel sighs, and Dean can hear a rustle, the other guy stretching out and getting comfortable. "You're not taking it off."  
Dean makes a small noise of complaint.  
"I've been waiting for you...frustrated, angry..." Each word from Angel's mouth is a white hot spark embedding itself into Dean's skin. Angel speaks like his own  
words are delicacies to be savoured. Dean doesn't know anyone who speaks like that. "I've had a terrible day and...I want to hear you beg."  
Dean groans, and gives up any hope of an easy life. "Fuck...please...Angel..."  
"Uh-uh." It feels like the hot body next to him has flitted away, teasing him. "Not yet. Hands off yourself...till I say."  
Dean slaps his hands flat on the bed, clenching the sheets, legs rubbing together unconsciously.  
"What is it you look like Dog?" Angel asks, and Dean feels his heart skip. They've never discussed it before, never asked each other anything about what they  
look like, where they live. As far as he knows, Angel is a carnie in Utah with ginger hair, or a great big hulking guy from Alaska, who bow hunts for elk.  
"Just a little detail." Angel asks. "Just one, for me."  
Dean's breath quickens, and he turns his mouth to the phone, laid next to him on the pillow.  
"Like what?"  
(-*-)  
"Like..." Castiel has his eyes closed, one hand running up and down his chest, gradually lifting his shirt to trail over the skin underneath. "What's your mouth  
like? Soft? Or mean and hard?" He deftly opens his belt. "What colour are your eyes? And, could I grab your hair? Is it long enough?"  
He hears Dog's shaky breath, and knows that he can't tease for much longer. He's too drunk on the moment, on how it feels to hold blackdog's pleasure from  
him.  
Blackdog's breathing grows desperate.  
"Just tell me." Castiel whispers, his voice turning rough, the way he knows blackdog likes it. "One thing...and you can touch...I promise."  
Still blackdog remains silent, and Castiel is not going to let him. He waited, he has earned this tiny piece of blackdog, part of a larger picture that he will never  
look upon.  
"What's your skin like? Pale? Dark? Smooth or...are you marked? Do you have scars? A blemish? More than one?"  
"Freckles." Blackdog pants, suddenly.  
Castiel bites his lips, hitches his zipper down.  
"I have freckles...pale brown..." Blackdogs breath stutters between the words, that come out in a rush. "I'm tan, I have a scar on my thigh from where I cut it  
hiking, stupid –girly mouth, green eyes, brown hair, almost blond but...oh, fuck please..."  
"Touch it." Castiel tells him, and hears blackdog's strained moan of relief. He slides his hand into his own pants and touches himself, imagining the breathy  
moans over the phone are being uttered directly into his ear.  
"I wish you were here." Blackdog blurts, and Castiel stills his hand, listening to the other boy, his boy, falling apart. "I want you...God, I want you ..."  
"I want you too." Castiel breathes, and quickens his pace, spinning out of control to the glorious sound of blackdog whimpering, "Oh fuck me...fuck  
me...please..."  
Afterwards, panting on the single bed that is his at his brother's discretion. Castiel quickly collects himself. It was just part of the game, nothing more. Blackdog  
knew the rules. No meeting, no contact. Castiel could only imagine the humiliation – his beautiful, befreckled submissive finding out that he was not as  
advertised. That Castiel was a lanky whisp of an aspiring dominant. Almost laughable.  
"I bought 'Cleric' today." Blackdog says, in the dangerous silence. "Do you have it? I thought we could..." he sighs. "Please don't be mad, I didn't mean..."  
"I know." Castiel says curtly. "Your parents, they've taken the console?"  
"For a while." Blackdog admits. "My grades are in the toilet."  
"Then...we'll do this by phone, same time...and I suggest you study, so that we can meet in 'Cleric' before too long."  
"I will. I promise." There's an unspoken 'master' there that soothes Castiel's troubled soul.  
"Good." Something is troubling him, and he finds he has to ask the question that has been nagging at him for a while. "Are you...you are legal? Yes?"  
Blackdog is silent.  
"I will be very angry, if you lie to me." Castiel says.  
"I'm...seventeen." blackdog admits.  
Castiel pauses. He'd wanted to know that blackdog wasn't fourteen, or something. But... they were of the same age.  
"Me too." He assures him, not sure if blackdog will believe him.  
There's silence.  
"You doubt me. Fine." Castiel sighs.  
"No, I..." He can almost imagine blackdog blushing. "I trust you."  
"Good boy." Castiel murmurs. He isn't expecting a response, but the one he gets flashes through him like a wave of black electricity.  
"Thank you...sir."  
(-*-)  
Dean turns his light off and climbs into bed.  
Angel was seventeen, just like him.  
He'd always assumed that Angel was older, but, he trusted that the other guy was telling the truth. Dean closes his eyes and tries to imagine what Angel looks  
like. He hadn't asked for details, that's not how it works, but in his head he tries to build up a picture. Angel's voice is deep, rough, Dean imagines that he  
smokes, has rough fingers to match that voice, yellow stained and strong.  
Dean rolls onto his stomach, splayed and sleepy on the mattress, grinding a little as he follows those strong fingers up to powerful arms, broad shoulders, a  
hard chest. He tries to imagine what it would feel like to be bent over, pummelled by swift, powerful hips, gripped by those hands until he was bruised all over.  
He shivers.  
There's something more to Angel than strength though, he knows it. He's not some nasty ass bruiser, he's refined. There's power in his words, as well as in his  
body. He's sleek and taught, not bulging or rippling with obscene amounts of artificial bulk. Dean imagines Angel's skin, pale and smooth and cool under his  
tongue. He can't quite make out his eyes though, can't decided what colour they would be. In his head they're black, dark like underside of a leaf. Secretive.  
Dean turns over and again and maps out his own body with his hands, under the covers. It's this that brings his feverish imagination up short. Angel will not be  
pleased with him if he finds out that Dean is not what he was looking for. Angel had been looking for someone twinky and obedient. And...well, Dean was  
obedient. But he knew he wasn't exactly ideal. He was only seventeen and already he could tell he was going to get bigger - stronger and taller, by the time he  
was done growing. His dad and his granddad were both the same. Though it looked like Sam was going to stay tiny and plump, like a freaking cherub, for  
good.  
Whenever Angel called him 'boy', Dean felt a shiver of unease. Not because he felt weird being called by that name, because...well, he didn't. He liked it. It was  
just that...he knew whatever Angel was picturing, it wasn't him. And sooner or later, Angel would either get bored and go find someone else to IM with, or, they'd  
meet and Angel would be angry with him – and not in a good way.  
Dean hated lying to him. But, the truth would lose him everything that made him feel...good. He wasn't like the other kids at school, he didn't want to date girls,  
and there were no gay guys, certainly no guys who'd understand what he himself hadn't fully grasped yet. The part of him that wanted someone to hurt him, and  
love him. Matherson Prep didn't have a great record with gay students, the last one, a girl, had been bullied into transferring.  
So, Dean needed Angel.  
But he knew that Angel wanted the truth from him, always.  
And he so wanted to give it.  
*Chapter 4*:  
Updating! The updates cometh! In between poll voting and catching up on Shameless. I'm afraid to say the two of them won't find out who each other is for a  
while, plenty of stuff coming up though.  
Dean studies harder than he ever has before. He studies before school, over breakfast, and when he arrives, going straight to home room. He studies through  
lunch, right up until the teachers arrive for their classes. He fills his iPod with recordings of the books they're doing for English, and he walks all the way home,  
listening to them. He studies at home, in his room. Reading page after page of notes and text books. Doing equations and memorising physics formulae.  
The only time he takes a break is for dinner, and later, for Angel.  
"How are you doing in school?" Are the first words Angel says to him on the phone, every night.  
"Getting better at the math, but...I'm still stuck on chemistry." Dean says, on this particular night, a fortnight after his console was confiscated.  
"I see." Angel says thoughtfully. "Take off your clothes."  
Dean strips off and kneels on the bed, laying the phone carefully on the mattress. He takes his small stack of pillows, as instructed, and curls himself over them,  
completely naked, the air caressing his bared skin, the cool cotton of the pillow strangely arousing against his stomach and chest. He rests his head on the  
mattress, the phone by his lips.  
"Now, I want you to get two of your fingers nice and wet." Angel says, and Dean catches the snick of his belt being unbuckled, somehow it thrills him that Angel  
has him like this, almost completely undone, naked and ready to come - and he's still fully dressed. In control. He covers his fingers with lotion.  
"Get them inside you." Angel breathes, and Dean braces himself forwards, one hand reaching back, spreading the lotion, circling – before daring to push.  
"...and imagine it's me fucking you."  
Dean lets out a soft whine, unable to keep it in any longer as the first of his fingers is swallowed to the first knuckle. It feels weird, and kind of like something his  
body shouldn't do – but he keeps going.  
He tries to imagine what it would feel like, having Angel on top of him, pushing him down onto the bed, holding him there while he fucks him wide open. Dean  
watches videos like that online, see's skinny pale guys getting their stretched out holes spanked, dripping cum and moaning. He wants Angel to treat him like  
that, to own him, use him – then kiss him, so sweetly.  
Two fingers inside and Dean moans as quietly as he can. Through the phone, he hears Angel sigh breathily, a sure sign that he's close.  
Dean grits his teeth, fingers wildly searching out his prostate. He knows it's there, he's read about it, seen guys getting banged. Maybe his just doesn't work  
right, or it's somewhere to far for him to...he strikes gold on his sixth attempt, and makes a sound so long and base that it could only be described as a low.  
Angel's breath hitches into a gruff sound. "Do you feel good now?"  
"Yeah..." Dean pants, and the sound of his own voice, strained, almost hysterically cracked, only makes his blood burn hotter.  
"Are you going to come?"  
"Mmmhmmm." Dean is so on edge ha can't speak, can't think for fear of losing it entirely.  
"Me too." Angel is panting now, "I wish I could feel you, feel you coming around me."  
And that's all Dean can take, one final finger flicking over his prostate, rubbing his heavy dick into the pillows under him, and Angel's voice in his ear. He  
comes, and shakes, and collapses onto the damp pillows, sliding his fingers out of himself and lying, face hot, beside his phone.  
There's a short silence as Angel collects himself, then,  
"I got you a present today." Angel confesses.  
"Really? What?" Dean says, before his brain can even get to the whole 'Angel is a total stranger from the internet' thing. He meant it when he told Angel that he  
trusted him. How much, he has yet to decide.  
"I just...I was walking by this store, 'Private Store'...and I thought..." Angel pauses. "I just wanted you to have something. Something from me. I know that you  
uh...I can't know your address. I can't send it. But I bought it for you anyway. I don't really know why."  
Dean's brain starts working again.  
"Wait...Private Store...like...on Astor Street?"  
There's a long, long silence.  
"You live near Astor street?"  
Dean swallows. "I could walk there. It would take a while but...yeah. Near enough."  
"We live in the same town." Angel says, something like wonder in his voice.  
"Yeah." Dean says, his mouth going dry. "Hey, do you know that uh...the loose plank in the bandstand at the park? There's like, a whole under it."  
"I know."  
Dean pauses, then says what's just popped into his head. "So...if you left it there, whatever it is...I could pick it up...and technically. We wouldn't be meeting."  
Dean holds his breath.  
"That is...very clever of you." Angels says. "I will leave it there tonight. And you can collect it tomorrow morning?"  
"I will."  
"Now, go and study." Angel tells him.  
And it's the end of the call.  
Dean doesn't sleep at all that night. He yo-yos between anticipation and fear, rolling onto his side, and then his back again in the dark as he contemplates what  
the morning is going to bring. The Private Store sold all kinds of weird sex stuff, and regular sex stuff. From lube to restraints and blow up dolls. Dean had never  
been in there, he was too young, not to mention too scared of being caught. But he knows what kind of crap those places sell. What would Angel buy him?  
Dean barely touches breakfast, moving his cereal around until it turns into a brownish-orange mush. His orange juice is barely in the glass for ten seconds,  
before he drinks it down and goes to leave the table.  
"Keen to get to school?" John asks with raised eyebrows.  
"I just want the Xbox back." Dean says, grinning as he puts his coat on and picks up his bag. "I was about to five-star Free Bird."  
"We'll see about it...but you've been putting the work in, I'll admit that." John raises a smile.  
Mary refills her coffee cup. "See? He's a good boy, aren't you Dean."  
"Sure." Dean call, pushing open the door. The words twist around in him though, and he thinks that they will never mean as much from anyone else as they do  
from Angel.  
He walks the long way round to school, through the park. There's no one around this early, and at first Dean thinks he's lucky, because then he won't be spotted.  
But, as he approaches the bandstand he starts to worry that maybe he's putting himself in danger here. That Angel might be a liar, waiting to pick him up in a  
van and take him away.  
He quells the fear, Angel hasn't lied to him. He's fine.  
He just hopes the thing he's picking up isn't something creepy. It would make him feel bad if he gets skeeved out by Angel's present.  
Dean climbs up onto the bandstand and finds the loose plank in the side, pretty much everyone knew it was there. It was a good place to hide your school stuff  
while you were playing football in the summer. He pulls it open and a book falls out, Chemistry For Dummies. It's used, and he wonders if it's Angel's own copy,  
picked up and left here for him on a whim. Dean turns to the inside cover and finds that the name there has been obliterated with black marker. Angel was  
clever like that.  
Dean reached into the hole and pulled out a brown paper sack. Inside, he felt a longish box. Pulling it out, he opened the cardboard box, and drew out a piece  
of card, with a long strip of leather wrapped around it. The leather was soft and black, a strip like you might wear as a bracelet, only longer. Wrapped around it,  
was a thin golden chain.  
He pulls the piece of card away, and holds the present up. There's a small gold padlock on the end of the chain. As he moves the thing in his hand, a key drops  
from the card, and falls to the ground.  
That's when Dean sees the note on the back of the card.  
Dog, this is for you. Wear it around your waist, and lock it.  
Leave the key for me.  
Angel.  
Dean swallows, then looks around to see if anyone else is there. He can't see anyone. He quickly puts everything into his school bag and leaves the park.  
At school, he passes by the milling crowds of other students, pushes his way into the boys toilets and goes into a stall. Once there, breathing more heavily than  
he'd like, he hitches up his shirt and wraps the thin leather strand around himself, locking it gently. He checks, and it can't be seen through his shirt. Of course,  
he still has to change for gym, but there are some stalls in the changing room too. One of the perks of being at Matherson Prep.  
He holds the key for a second, then sits on the closed toilet lid, takes out a pen, and scribbles a quick note.  
Angel,  
I love it.  
Thank you.  
Dog.  
After a few seconds though, Dean adds, awkwardly, 'I love you' to the second line, and 'Master' to the third. After school he takes it back to the bandstand and  
hides it there with the key.  
All that day he can feel the brush of leather, the cool touch of the chain around his middle. It's not too tight, but tight enough to be flush with his skin, reminding  
him that he belongs to Angel. He feels...different somehow. Special. Like he's wearing an engagement ring or something. He feels loved, knowing somewhere  
out there, Angel is thinking about him wearing this.  
The knowledge that the other boy lives in his town eats away at him. They could meet. Today if they wanted. And then it wouldn't have to be time spent alone  
with his hand.  
He could have Angel, all to himself.  
(-*-)  
Castiel recovers the key that evening. He's pleased to find that his gift was accepted, he'd been walking aimlessly when he'd ended up by the Private Store,  
and he'd had twenty dollars in his pocket. Curiosity had overcome him. He'd browsed such sites on the web before, but having something delivered to his was  
out of the question. He'd have had to use Luc's address, and his credit card.  
Inside, the shop had been a disappointment, neat and orderly, almost surgically clean and well presented. There was no passion to it, no eroticism. Most of the  
things for sale were similarly garish and impersonal. But the perfect gift had presented itself unexpectedly, and Castiel had been helpless to resist its charms,  
imagining how it would look beside his Blackdog's freckles.  
That night, their phone call begins differently.  
Blackdog says, instantly, "Thank you."  
"Do you like it?"  
"A lot."  
"Good...I bet it looks beautiful on you."  
"I don't know...maybe."  
Castiel fights the desire to see for himself. They can't meet, it's foolish to think even for a second that they can.  
"It's for doing so well, and for being such a good boy."  
"...thank you."  
"And, Dog?"  
"Yes?"  
"I love you too."  
He hears Dog relax, and smiles to himself. He knew that's what he wanted. And it's true, Castiel thinks to himself, as Dog tells him about his latest stumbling  
blocks, he really does love him.  
He's just scared that, soon, it won't be enough.  
*Chapter 5*:  
More updates, plotty things starting to occur, mostly still just relationship moments and angst.  
Dean has a really bad idea a week and a half after Angel buys him the present.  
It starts as just a random collections of words, filtering to him through other people's conversations. Like when he's sitting on a wall in the school yard, and a  
group of loud ass guys in his year are talking shit about 'Dick's' whoever or whatever that might be.  
Then, later, some graffiti pops up in one of the bathrooms, 'Mr. Daniel's – Back room at Dick's – Anytime.' Mr. Daniels is the music teacher for the lower years,  
and he gets a lot of meanness thrown at him, because he's gay. There's a rumour that the school only kept him on because he threatened to sue when they tried  
to fire him, once he'd come out.  
Dean doesn't really care, he just gets on with his life.  
It's not until later that week that he hears another little gang of entitled asshole talking, this time on his way out of school.  
"My Dad says it's disgusting."  
"How does he know, Dale?" One kid laughs.  
The two scuffle.  
"He works for the health department – say's it's going to get shut down as fast as it opened. When some fag gets Hep.C or his dick bitten off by a rat."  
"If he's lucky." Some other joker with beiber hair chips in. "I heard there's a room in the back, where guys go to get sucked off."  
"And again, how do you know this?"  
"Shut up, I heard it from Aaron Schwitzer's big brother, he's a bartender there – and not a fucking queer either. Says there's a hole in the wall, and some  
stranger'll suck your dick through it."  
"Bullshit."  
"I swear..."  
Dean's out of earshot by then, but the idea is already with him.  
He can't meet Angel, he knows that. But, Angel had sent him a gift indirectly, and maybe this was his chance to do the same.  
When he gets home, he opens his books and consults the Chemistry for Dummies book, which is coming in handy quite a lot now – especially because Angel  
had highlighted some of the things Dean's been having trouble with.  
He's getting better results on all the quizzes now, gone up from 56% on average, to the mid seventies.  
When Angel calls, at exactly nine, Dean picks up halfway through the first ring.  
"Hey."  
"How was your day?" Angel asks.  
"Passed my math test. 74."  
"Not bad. Still room to improve." Angel says. "...that girl, you haven't spoken to her again?"  
There'd been an incident, before, and Dean had sworn that he wouldn't talk to the girl he'd kissed again. But, the previous day, she'd come up to him after  
Biology – and she'd asked him to the end of semester dance.  
"Not her, one of her friends asked me if I'd thought about the dance yet."  
Angel is silent.  
"I'm not going with her." Dean says, defensively. "I'm just...she's like the hottest girl in my class, if I say no, I've got to have a good reason."  
"I think I'm a fucking good reason." Angel says, and Dean's surprised at how bitter he sounds.  
"Hey...it's not like that. You know I'm not going to cheat on you. I love you."  
"Not with a girl anyway." Angel sighs.  
"Not with anyone." Dean tells him.  
Angel doesn't reply.  
"Don't be mad." Dean whispers.  
"I'm not." Angel says, "I'm not mad at you, anyway...I just...wish it wasn't like this. I'm sick of..."  
"What?"  
"Not having you."  
Dean feels warmth travel up his spine. "You could."  
Angel is silent for a second. "We made a deal – no meeting."  
"But..."  
"Don't argue with me." Angel tells him. "This is what's best, for both of us."  
"What if we didn't see each other?" Dean asks.  
"...what are you planning?"  
"There's this new bar...Dick's."  
"No."  
"Angel..."  
"No. It's a hole, and I don't want you there."  
"Why?"  
"Because..." Angel's voice gets deeper whenever he's annoyed, whenever he's being protective, and it never fails to make Dean bite his lip, his stomach  
flipping with anticipation. "I don't want us to get caught, exposed...and I don't want all those...creepy old guys, fawning over you."  
"You know I wouldn't let them do anything."  
"They'd think it. That'd be enough."  
Dean swallows. "I just...um...I heard, there's a back room? Where...you can get sucked off, through a hole in the wall."  
Silence.  
"I want to do this for you." Dean pleads.  
"And I don't want you to see me. If there's even a chance you might..."  
"Why? Why would that be so terrible?" Dean asks. "...did you lie to me?"  
"Of course not." Angel says. "I'm just..." He sighs. "I'm not what you think I am."  
"What does that mean?"  
"It means...if you could see me...you wouldn't want me." Angel murmurs.  
"Not possible." Dean promises.  
"It's true...I think you would find me...deficient. Laughable."  
"Angel..." Dean isn't used to this, to any kind of vulnerability on Angel's part. But since Angel had told him that he loved him, channels of communication had  
opened up between them that hadn't been there before. It wasn't just about getting off anymore. It was about Angel being there when Dean needed him, being a  
consistent source of warmth, and approval. And now, Dean figured it was his turn. "I told you I love you, I wasn't lying – I do."  
"You don't know me."  
"I know how you are with me, and that you tell me the truth...that you love me as much as I love you...and you're just a voice in my ear, you still mean more than  
any other guy, or those girls at school. Whatever you are, when you're not here with me, I'll still love." He pauses, dread sneaking up on him. "You think you  
won't...love me anymore, if I'm, if I don't look right?"  
Dean says this, knowing that, there's a chance Angel will not want him once he sees what he looks like, how he is. He wants to show Angel, ahead of time, that  
he loves him no matter what, hoping that if Angel does see him, he'll remember, and not be angry. Angry, Dean realises is the wrong word.  
Disappointed. Unimpressed. Amused. By this surly, lumpish teenager, who thought he could compete with all the smooth limbed, willowy bottoms out there.  
"Of course not." Angel tells him. "I picked you, because you're...you're actually perfect, for me...and you're mine, whatever you look like, whoever you are, it  
doesn't change that."  
"So why does it matter to you, what I'm going to think of you?"  
"Because it's different...and complicated, and hard to explain."  
"Could you...try, maybe?"  
Angel sighs. "What you need me to be, that's how it's different. I don't think I could do the same things for you, if you saw me."  
"Why?" Dean is genuinely confused now, and bordering on upset.  
"Because, I'm not...It doesn't matter...we're not going to meet." Angel says, finally.  
"Okay." Dean responds automatically , still confused, and not entirely happy with the abrupt ending of their conversation.  
"But...we can arrange something, at the bar." Angel tells him, voice soft. "I would like that."  
"Really?" Dean's surprised, Angel had seemed so against the idea.  
"You've earned it." Angel replies. "For doing so well...and...what you said, just now...it means..." He cuts himself off. "Thank you." He says stiffly.  
"You don't need to thank me for loving you."  
"Then thank you for telling me." Angel says.  
He hangs up, and it's the first time they haven't done anything in the evening. But Dean doesn't mind, he feels like he's gotten everything he needs from Angel  
tonight – and that he's given as good as he's gotten.  
(-*-)  
Castiel looks at the cell phone in his hand, and sighs.  
God, he's in so far over his head. At the beginning, when he'd first started to talk to blackdog, he'd known that at any point he could sign out, disconnect from  
xbox live, and walk away.  
Now he knows that he can't.  
And it scares the hell out of him.  
He's brought dog into his life, found out tiny details about him, and hoarded them, shared with him a side of himself that no one else has ever seen. Right now,  
blackdog is wearing his gift, living in the same town. Castiel knows that he's come too far to simply disappear from dog's life. It would hurt them both too much.  
And now blackdog had suggested this meeting, where they would not meet, but...well, Castiel would be lying if he said the idea didn't send electricity through  
his stomach. In fact, when blackdog had told him what he wanted to do, he'd had to bite his tongue to stop himself from agreeing straight away. The very idea  
that dog wanted to give him this – wanted so intensely to please him that he'd travel, at night, and secretively, to a place like Dick's and...debase himself in what  
would surely be a filthy place – made Castiel's skin shiver with pleasure.  
It made him love the other teenager with an even greater intensity – and that was why it was so dangerous.  
But, Castiel cannot find it in himself to deny blackdog what he's asked so adamantly for. He looks down at the silent phone, knowing that now all he can do is  
move forwards, and hope that wherever they are heading, he'll be spared the humiliation of meeting blackdog there, face to face.  
The phone beeps with a text – Saturday, 12 midnight. See you there?  
Castiel types back – Yes. Be careful.  
For two days, Castiel frets over what it is they've planned to do. He makes mistakes in his work for Luc, and, because his suspension is over, he has to try and  
concentrate in school, a task that proves difficult. Sometimes, despite himself, he wishes that he went to Matherson Prep, if only to escape the chaotic, violent  
nature of his own school. The way the other kids throw things around during lessons, and make fun of the teachers and the half of the class who, like Castiel,  
want to learn all they can, and pass their SAT's.  
But, he'd rather be bullied and disrupted than outright bashed by a school like Matherson's which often had nasty, violent little incidents break out between gay  
students and bastards. Not that it ever got reported, most of the time the parents of the gay kids were too humiliated.  
On Saturday night Castiel put on an oversized sweatshirt of Luc's, with a hood that pretty much covered his face. He snuck out of the house while Luc was in his  
room, hopefully asleep, and walked all the way to the edge of town, where Dick's had set up at an abandoned gas station.  
He took a deep breath, and pushed open the door. He would not admit to being afraid, mostly, he was just worried about blackdog.  
It was the worst kind of place, dirty, pretty much unrenovated, aside from the chipboard bar that had been built to house kegs and a locked cabinet for the hard  
stuff. There was no point setting up anything better, Castiel figured, with the neighbourhood association already lobbying to shut the place down. Most of the  
guys looked pretty normal, everyone kept their eyes to themselves, or to who they were drinking with. Castiel didn't recognise anyone, no locals – probably  
people from other small towns, looking to escape to where no one would know them.  
Castiel avoided the bar, where someone who looked kind of familiar was slinging drinks. There was a door to the back room, what had once been the gas  
station bathroom, and on it was a piece of paper, tacked up, with 'Gents' written on it in red marker. Someone's idea of a joke.  
No one stopped him when he pushed it open, he heard someone mutter something to their partner, and then a short laugh, but he ignored it.  
Inside the restroom, there were two cubicles, a mess of fallen plaster, and a smell of damp, and stale urine. The gas station had previously been the home of  
one or two derelicts. Someone, maybe the operator of the bar, had splashed bleach around, but the sharp, swimming pool odour didn't cover much. It made  
Castiel's throat burn as he breathed it.  
He checked both cubicles, both were empty, save a dusting of plaster, and pieces of splintered wood. A smooth hole, two inches in diameter, had been drilled  
through the cubicle wall, Castiel saw this, and swallowed nervously. He'd never been with anyone before, never physically and in person. With blackdog he had  
never felt like a virgin, but here, in this room? He felt surprisingly naive.  
He heard someone walking towards the door, then stop.  
The phone in his back pocket chirrups. Castiel takes it out and finds a message, simply – Are you here?  
Yes. He answers, quickly stepping into the end cubicle.  
The main bathroom door opens, and Castiel hears hesitant feet slither over plaster chips, scuffing the vinyl floor tiles.  
"Angel?"  
"I'm here." Castiel answers, realising too late that without bad cell reception, and worse xbox microphones, they can now hear each other's voices clearly.  
Dog's is beautiful, as he knew it would be.  
He hears the other teenager go into the cubicle next to his, and then there's a small silence. Then blackdog speaks, and Castiel feels a surge of gratitude.  
"This is really weird."  
"I agree." Castiel mutters, and feels his face grow hot.  
"So...do we just...start?" Dog asks.  
Castiel masters his breathing, forcing the heat in his skin down, until it blazes, a controlled inferno at the heart of him. He felt nervous when he came in, but, now  
it's up to him to put his nerves aside, and guide blackdog through this.  
"Kneel down." He says, and hears a scuffle as blackdog complies.  
(-*-)  
The floor is cold, he can feel it through the knees of his jeans, and the hard linoleum is uncomfortable from the second he kneels on it. But Dean finds he doesn't  
mind. Not when he can hear the sound of a zipper being inched down. He brings his face level with the hole in the plywood wall, and catches a glimpse of Angel  
in the semi-gloom of the bathroom, the dark outline of his legs, black jeans and the winking metal of his belt. Then the silhouette of Angel's body blocks his view  
entirely.  
He can sense Angel hesitating, and it's only then that he realises just how badly he wants this, how much he wants to do something so good for Angel, in return  
for all that Angel has done for him – offering him partnership online, giving him the chemistry book, the chain that he still has around his waist. It's thinking of this  
last thing that makes him sure of himself.  
"I'm still wearing the gift you got me...haven't taken it off."  
He can hear Angel's breathing, a little rough, but controlled.  
"I was thinking about you, the whole way out here." Dean continues. "I can't stop thinking about you...but, tonight...I just keep thinking of you, about having you in  
my mouth."  
The plywood wall in front of him shakes as Angel leans against it.  
"Have you been thinking about it?"  
"Since we first met." Hearing Angel's voice, unfiltered by crackly technology, is like having warm fingers on the back of his neck, a touch of ownership, both  
comforting and exciting.  
"Are you going to let me?"  
Dean swallows when, instead of a reply, he hears the sound of Angel sliding himself out of his jeans and his underwear. He wets his lips expectantly, and  
nervously, and looks at the tip of Angel's cock, as the teenager lines himself up with the hole in the wall, and presses his hips to the plywood.  
It looks different to his own, longer, but not as thick, and the knowledge that it's a part of Angel, a part he can touch after all these months, makes his body shiver  
in excitement. Dean reaches up, and tentatively runs his finger over the pink head, feeling Angel's body jump, making his dick shiver. Dean wraps his fingers  
around the tip, and plays with it curiously, seeing if Angel responds to things the way he does, the rub of a finger under the head, or a slide of his thumb against  
the slit.  
Angel breathes heavily, and Dean's quite proud of himself, as he fingers the vein that meanders over the top of the shaft, and Angel breathes out a quiet, "fuck."  
Touching a cock is practically familiar, but putting his mouth on one, however many times he's imagined it, is another thing entirely. Dean inches forwards,  
keeping his eyes open as long as possible as he leans in, touching the very tip of his tongue to the end of Angel's dick. The teenager's hips move forward, as  
much as they can, and the wet tip of his cock slides over Dean's tongue, leaving a faint trail of sticky pre-come. With a lunge of confidence, Dean moves  
forwards, not letting Angel's dick slip by him, wrapping it carefully in his lips and bringing up a hand to support it as he sucks.  
Angel moans, but it comes out so deeply that it might as well be a growl, and Dean continues to suck, flicking his tongue around and over the shaft and head,  
drawing back and then taking more in, as he gets used to the taste in his mouth, the heavy thickness between his lips.  
"Like that." Angel mutters, as Dean strikes a better rhythm, stroking with his hand, and sucking gently, then harder, then taking it deeper. "Just like that...you're  
so good at this...so good to me, such a sweet mouth...and you're all mine..."  
Angel's hips move in sharp little jabs, his cock sliding through Dean's lips all on it's own. After a while Dean just moves with him, moving forwards as Angel  
thrusts through his lips. And the knowledge that he's having his face fucked makes his jeans feel even tighter than they were when he'd knelt down – he's been  
hard since he heard Angel's voice. And now, Angel's voice is all around him.  
"God, I bet you're so beautiful, on your knees for me...wish I could see you, watch your eyes and your mouth and...fuck, I'd come all over you, see it on your  
freckles...your back...hold onto your chain while I fucked you..."  
Dean balls his hands up on the wall, because Angel hasn't told him that he can touch himself yet, but fuck, he wants to. He wants Angel inside of him so much,  
and the feel of him, sliding in and out of his willing mouth, getting wetter and wetter, till pre-come and spit runs down his chin, is so good that he's half convinced  
he'll come right in his jeans. Fortunately, even this close to coming, Angel hasn't forgotten him.  
"Touch yourself...I want to hear you come, I want..." He drags in a breath, thrusts hastening. "I want you, just you...all of you, right now...and, God, just always..."  
Dean has his hand stuck down his pants, fisting himself and jerking, once twice, index finger and thumb strangling the tip, stroking up, until all the pressure he's  
been holding back, breaks, and the first dart of hot fluid flies out onto the dirty floor, he sucks harder, tasting Angel, his mouth and nose filled up with his scent,  
and wetness of his pre-come. With one hand he continues to stoke himself, easing the rest of his release out onto the dirty vinyl, trembling when his hand slips  
and his fingers skate over the sensitive head of his dick.  
Angel shoves forward with a groan, and Dean finds his mouth drenched in bitter come, feels a small trickle run down his chin. He pulls away after a second,  
spits, twice, then returns his mouth to Angel's cock, licking gently, brushing his lips over the sensitive skin until Angel breaks, and has to pull away.  
Dean wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, reaches down and does up his jeans.  
"You can get up now...that was..." Angel breathes, and Dean imagines him, happy and sated, prepared to allow him close, to hold him, and kiss him.  
"Perfect...you were, perfect."  
Dean gets to his feet.  
"Can we do this again?" he asks, "because, that was the best thing I've ever done...that was...I mean, you're right here, with me...you were in my mouth."  
"I'd like to." Angel says, "We'll have to work it out...find a way to do this, without meeting."  
"I want to meet you." Dean whines. "I want to see you, and...I don't just want to suck you, I could do everything for you. Anything you wanted. I want to be with  
you."  
"I already explained..."  
"You are everything I want – I know that. And you should too." Dean says, surprising himself. "I can't handle this if you're more afraid than me."  
There's a bang, and before Dean can get out of his own cubicle, the restroom door swings shut.  
Angel is gone.  
Dean hurries out into the main bar, but there's no sign of anyone who wasn't there when he went in.  
"Crap." He mutters under his breath.  
He's heading for the door when someone says his name, and fear punches him in the stomach, because they're using his real name. Not the name Angel calls  
him.  
He turns, and the bartender is looking at him. Aaron Schwitzer's older brother Liam. Dean remembers hearing that he was tending bar over here, working for  
some money to fix up his shitty car.  
They stare at each other, and for a second Dean doesn't connect this moment with anything else in his life – not with school, the kids in his class, his parents,  
his friends.  
Then it all slides into place, and he realise that he is totally, and completely fucked. Because Liam is looking at him, mouth twisted in disgust, and Dean just  
came out of the back room, with a thin crust of come, running from the corner of his mouth.  
He does the only thing he can – he runs out the door, into the night. And all he can think, as he runs away, running out of breath once he hits the road, and  
starting the hour long walk home. Is that this is the last hour he has, before his life changes forever.  
*Chapter 6*:  
More updates!  
Dean is late to school on Monday. He kinda made himself late on purpose, trying to get his Mom to believe that he's sick. It'd only get him one day's grace, but  
he'd settle for another 24 hours of borrowed time. No dice though – she'd sent him off to school anyway.  
He hasn't heard from Angel since being at the bar, even though he's texted, a lot.  
Dean walks up to the front entrance of the school and goes inside, finding the corridors still scattered with other latecomers. He keeps his head down and  
heads straight for his locker, clinging to the thin hope that maybe he hasn't been ratted out.  
This lasts for as long as it takes to enter his locker combination, and jerk open the metal door.  
A slew of pictures tumble out onto the floor, hundreds of them, some clipped from magazines – underwear models and semi-naked twilight stars. Some clearly  
printed from the internet, porn in varying degrees of soft-hardcore.  
Dean looks down at them, where they're carpeting the floor, covering his shoes. Then he kneels down and starts sweeping them into a heap, piling up his arms  
and going to dump them in the nearest trash can.  
He's late to class, and when he gets there he's met with thirty frosty pairs of eyes.  
It only gets worse after that.  
When they pair up for French practice, no one goes with him, and Mr. Partou doesn't even look at him. So Dean sits by himself and reads the example  
conversation until his eyes blur.  
Every few seconds something hits the back of his neck, spit balls, actual spit, then something light and sharp. It falls to the floor, and Dean touches his smarting  
neck, his fingers coming away bloody. He looks down. A disposable razorblade.  
When he goes to his locker again for second period, all of his stuff is missing.  
In wood shop, he finds his project, a small set of selves, has been broken apart and buried at the bottom of the scrap wood bin.  
At lunch, he collects his plate of spaghetti and a can of soda. When he gets to a table at the back of the room he sits down, alone, to eat. A couple of seconds  
later some guys from another year walk by, pick up the can and spit in it, and tip his plate into his lap.  
Dean goes to the bathroom to clean himself off, and while he's in there a bunch of guys, including Aaron Schwitzer, shove him against the wall and take his tie  
and blazer. There're five of them, and Dean doesn't have a chance.  
He gets detention for the state of his uniform, with the stains, and missing items.  
When he gets home he changes before his parents can ask him what happened to him.  
That night he waits for Angel to call, but he doesn't. When Dean tries to call him, the call goes straight to voicemail.  
"I get it, you're mad at me, and I'm sorry I pushed you. It's your call, ok? But...I got seen, at the bar. Everyone at school knows about me...and I'm freaking out.  
So...call me? please?"  
He waits for two hours, and the phone doesn't ring once.  
(-*-)  
Castiel listens to the message several times, and each time he dials Dog's number, his finger hovering over the 'call' button. But he doesn't call.  
He doesn't know why he can't do it. He wants to, more than anything. But, if he calls, he'll hear that Dog is suffering, and there is nothing he can do to help. Not  
without revealing himself.  
He's been thinking about Dog for a while, about which school he goes to, where he lives. No one at Green Bank is newly 'out' and that only leaves Matherson.  
He pities blackdog if that's the case.  
As Castiel sits on his single bed and looks at his phone, he realises that there is only one way he can help Dog, and it's not by letting him know exactly who he  
is.  
It's by finding Dog, and taking care of him.  
Without being seen.  
Castiel lists the things he knows - Dog is most likely a Matherson student, has freckles, and is now the only out kid at Matherson Prep.  
Not a lot to go on. But, Castiel prides himself on being damn clever, both in getting good grades, fixing up old computers...and finding out useful information.  
It's stupidly easy to ditch school and go into the drycleaners on the good side of town, wearing his best clothes and claiming he's lost his ticket. He lands  
himself a Matherson uniform, takes it to the public restroom and puts it on, combs his hair, and puts his other clothes in his school satchel.  
No one stops him on his way into Matherson, no one asks for ID, there aren't even metal detectors. It's like a whole different country. Wood panelling and tiled  
floors, gorgeous displays of photographs and artwork that doesn't look like crack heads jerked off onto construction paper, and a freaking chandelier in the  
entry way.  
It kind of reminds him of that private school on Glee. If he kind of squints, and adds a whole ton of homophobia.  
He joins a group of boys his own age, and follows them down the hallway. They're heading to the cafeteria, and he goes in with them, as naturally as he can.  
There are three boys ahead of him as he joins the queue and takes a soda for himself – A blond with acne on his neck, a mousey haired guy with shoulders like  
a heavyweight boxer, and a brunette who's wearing a lot of aftershave. Castiel knows that none of them are Dog already.  
He listens attentively as they discuss a paper one of them has just gotten back from a teacher, with a poor grade on it. Nothing useful to him, yet.  
Castiel takes some bills from his pocket and pays for his soda, and a salad in a plastic box. He looks around the room and takes in the tables of uniformed  
boys eating their lunches and talking animatedly. Some are too young, some too old. There are so many that he has no idea where to start, and he has a  
limited time.  
Someone jostles him and he steps away from them, annoyed. That's when he catches a thread of conversation from his left, from some boys still queuing for  
food.  
"...can't believe he even showed up." One guy hisses. "Shameless fucking faggot."  
"He'll be begging his parents to transfer him by the end of the month." Another boy smirks.  
"Especially after that stunt you pulled with his text books." The third guy snickers. "Sticking all that stuff over all the pages."  
"Ugh, my Dad found it on my computer last night, nearly blew an artery. I was like, 'Dad, really, you think I'm that much of a freak – it's just a prank, on some  
asshole at school.'"  
Castiel feels his anger getting the better of him, the underhandedness of these idiots appals him. At least at his school, if someone had a problem, they were  
up front about it. A fight, and threat, and it was over.  
One of the guys shifts his gaze from his friend, looking out over the room. "I just hope he gets it soon. Can't stand him being around. You know we still have gym  
with that fucker? Sharing the showers, knowing he's checking out your junk."  
Castiel stops listening, and follows the look thrown by the detestable school boy. At the rear of the cafeteria is a boy eating alone, that's not entirely unique,  
there are a few others eating alone – but they have books, and handheld consoles or smart phones. This boy has nothing, but hunched shoulders and closed off  
eyes.  
Castiel finds himself walking forwards without having fully decided to. It's dog, it has to be. Castiel can't quite look at him enough, but each glance is worse than  
the last, showing him just how much dog outshines him. He looks strong, that's the first thing Castiel notices, the innate strength in him, just waiting to come  
forth. There's a wilful look to him as well, and Castiel hadn't been expecting that, the darkness on his face, and in the way he holds himself, as if waiting for an  
inevitable fight, one that he will endeavour to win. When Castiel gets close to him, dog looks up, and Castiel is caught in his direct gaze, admiring the  
smattering of freckles on his cheeks and nose.  
"What?" Dog snaps. Castiel is again surprised at the strength in his voice, the suspicion and borderline anger. Dog has never spoken to him with anything but  
eagerness and trust. He doesn't like speaking like this – having dog doubt him.  
"I'm new." Castiel says, internally punching himself for how appallingly awkward he sounds.  
Dog continues to look at him.  
"I'm Castiel."  
"Dean."  
Dean. Castiel says it inside his head. It fits, almost too neatly into the space occupied by all the things he doesn't know about dog. It defines him completely. He  
loves it already.  
"Can I sit here?" He asks.  
"Apparently it's a free country." Dean says, going back to his meal, picking listlessly at the pasta on his plate.  
Castiel sits down, opens his salad box, and watches Dean through his lashes. He knows, as he knew the moment he saw him, that he's fucked. There's no way,  
no possible way, that he can speak to Dog again, knowing that this is him. This bulky, gorgeous pillar of hidden strength, with his insolent mouth. How can he?  
Knowing that, if he were to say, right now, 'It's me, Angel' Dog wouldn't just be shocked and disappointed.  
He'd laugh in his face.  
"Dude, you're really creeping my out." Dean mutters.  
Castiel realises that he's staring. "Sorry...I just..." he swallows, knowing that this is probably the last time they're going to talk, and that what he's about to say will  
make Dog storm off in anger and suspicion. "I think you're...beautiful." It's the wrong word, not hot, or cute, or gorgeous. But he means it. Dog is beautiful, and  
he wants to tell him that, even if it's the last thing he ever says.  
Dean glares at him. "If this is a fucking joke, you can go back to Aaron, or Tyler, or whichever asshole put you up to this and..."  
"It's not a joke...I'm, like you. I'm gay."  
"Might want to keep that quiet." Dean mutters.  
"Yeah, I've picked up on that." Castiel says. He pauses. "Do your parents know yet?"  
"Not yet." Dean says, looking intensely worried. "Pretty soon...I can't keep this quiet forever. Not with the whole school knowing."  
"Do you have a boyfriend?" Castiel doesn't even realised he's asked the question until Dean's looking at him funny.  
"...yes." Dean says, after a pause.  
"You don't sound sure."  
"I don't know how he feels about it...but yeah, I think he's my boyfriend." Dean shrugs. "He's kinda not speaking to me right now."  
"Maybe he has a good reason."  
"Yeah, I pissed him off."  
Castiel takes in the miserable slump of Dean's shoulders, and feels a lump in his throat as he says, "It's not your fault...I can't imagine anyone staying angry at  
you."  
"Maybe he's just bored with me." Dean mutters.  
"Can't imagine that either."  
"So you're the expert now?" Dean says belligerently. "Why don't you explain it to me?"  
Castiel feels a little sick, he hadn't known that Dog was this fragile, and seeing him now, he'd assumed he was much much stronger than he himself was. But  
Dean is...wounded. Buy something as simple as Castiel leaving him that night.  
He swallows and pushes away his untouched salad.  
"Maybe he's afraid."  
"Of what?" Dean glares. "Like I'm so..." he bites off the end of the sentence.  
"Of you...not loving him, or not wanting him...maybe he's hiding something."  
"He doesn't lie to me." Dean says slowly, certainly.  
"Maybe it's not a lie...just, something he can't tell you. And, he wishes he could, but...it's too hard...so, maybe it's just better, to give you up, than to have you walk  
away."  
"It's not his fucking choice." Dean scowls. "He shouldn't get to decide how I'll react. I trust him, he should trust me."  
"I'm sorry..." Castiel says, and he means it, he means it with everything he has.  
"It's nothing to do with you." Dean snaps, standing up and stalking away from the table. As he crosses the cafeteria, two guys flick food at him, and three more  
try to trip him, but fail.  
Castiel just watches him go, wondering why he thought dog leaving him would be more painful than this. Because it's this that's killing him.  
*Chapter 7*:  
More updates! For BHJ, because, this is all I can do right now to make your day a little better.  
Oh, btw, for the couple of people who wondered why Dean didn't recognise Castiel's voice (and the one asshole who was actually quite rude to me about it).  
Castiel is a teenager, which means he hasn't quite developed the Cas voice we all know and love – also, Dean wasn't really expecting Angel to show up as  
some scrawny guy at his school, so, I didn't think he'd put it together.  
On with the story. (Just watched the new Glee, so there might be shades of a connection there.)  
Dean shuts the front door and leans against it.  
Another day over, and he's still here.  
He stashes his schoolbag in the closet, and goes into the kitchen to get a soda from the fridge. He's just snapping back the ring when it hits him, and he leans  
against the cool steel of the refrigerator and closes his eyes.  
He can't do it again. He just can't.  
All his resignation and defensiveness is just gone, scraped off him by the stares he gets day in, day out. By the words and punches and petty thefts. By the  
three tiny cuts his has on his neck from razor blades, and by the heavy sick feeling he has in his gut, lingering from earlier that day  
It had been so humiliating. He'd gone to change for gym, and he'd made sure he came in early, so that he'd be ready before anyone else, and able to go wait in  
the gym. Three guys had arrived around the same time as him, but they weren't the bastards who went out of their way to hate him – they just glared at him and  
got changed in the far corner.  
But Dean had just taken of his shirt when the gym teacher, , had stormed in, and dragged him out by the arm, pushing him into the corridor infront of the other  
boys who were just arriving to change, and telling him to 'Go change in the janitors closet.'  
Dean had taken his clothes, and walked away, shoving his shirt back on as soon as he was out of sight of the furious teacher and the gleeful boys.  
He'd spent the gym period in the library, hiding out by the out of date atlases and turning the pages of a Dan Brown novel, not taking in a single word.  
Now he had a week of detention for skipping the class.  
And the other boys were now barring him from using the restroom, because they didn't want him seeing them at the urinal.  
Dean feels like everything he's been pushing down is boiling up, boiling over, and he can't take it. He doesn't want to cry. He doesn't want to be this weak, to  
give them the satisfaction. He'd thought it every time he saw some kid being humiliated, just because someone thought they might be gay. And he'd always  
thought that, if it was him, he wouldn't give the fuckers the satisfaction of seeing him hurt. Of knowing they'd one.  
But he can't go back there. He'd rather be dead.  
"Dean?" Sam's little voice comes from the doorway, and Dean mentally steadies himself before he turns around.  
"Hey Sammy, anything good on TV?"  
Sam looks at him, brows gathered together, and with the mother of all sad moose faces. "Dean...I just saw your facebook page."  
Dean stiffens. "I still have one of those? Thought everything was twitter now."  
Sam comes forwards and touches his arm. "Why didn't you tell me?"  
"What?" Dean says but his voice cracks.  
Sam hugs him, and Dean takes a second to wrap his arms around his little brother.  
Dean's seen his facebook page. It's covered in messages from people he goes to school with, people who used to be his friends. It's like they aren't even using  
words, just smearing hate on a blank white page, shoving it down his throat from the comfort of their own bedrooms. There's even a group now 'Send Dean  
Winchester to Faggot Hell'. It has over three thousand members. He'd checked, he couldn't stop himself. Most of them were people he'd never even met. And  
they hated him. Every. Single. One.  
"Are you going to tell Mom?" Sam asks.  
"That some assholes are picking on me?" Dean knuckles the top of Sam's head. "Like I care. They're just making shit up."  
"Are they?"  
He gives Sam a warning squeeze. "Yeah...it's just a lie Sam. No big deal."  
It's clear that Sam doesn't believe him, hell, Dean doesn't even blame him. But he needs all that crap to stay outside, at school, where it belongs. He spends so  
little waking time at home, a few hours in the morning, a few at night. Why not pretend that he's still normal? At least while he can. He knows that sooner or later,  
someone's going to blab to their parents, and then their parents will tell his parents. And it'll all be over.  
He goes upstairs and calls Angel fifteen times over the next three hours. He doesn't pick up for the first fourteen calls, and then suddenly, there's silence on the  
other end of the line, the dial tone stopping as the call finally goes through.  
"Angel?" he says, surprised.  
"...Please stop calling." Angel says, softly.  
Dean feels instantly like he's back in that corridor, being humiliated all over again. "Why?"  
"Because...I can't keep telling you that I don't want to be with you."  
He wants to hang up. Dean knows that if he had any kind of dignity, or strength, he would hang up. But he stays on the line. Waiting.  
Angel breaks first.  
"It's a lie. And you know it's a lie...but seeing me. Meeting me. Is not going to help you right now."  
"It would."  
"I don't think so."  
"Well, if I'm getting kicked and spat on like a stray fucking dog...I might as well be yours."  
Angel is silent for a very long time, but it's a silence so strong that Dean just wants to wrap himself up in it and stay there until everything else goes away, and  
it's just him and the sound of Angel breathing gently – in, out. In, out.  
"Is it really so bad?" Angel asks quietly.  
"My gym teacher told me to go change in a closet. Like I'm some kind of perv." He swallows. "They've been...taking my stuff, filling my locker with porn...cutting  
me, hitting me...I don't want to go back there."  
"Skip school."  
"What, for the rest of the year? I've got SAT's and...they'd call my parents..."  
"Just for tomorrow...I can fix things for you tomorrow, just don't go in."  
Dean frowns. "What are you going to do?"  
"Something really stupid." Angel sighs. "I...well, I know someone, who knows some people. It'll work out. I promise."  
"But you still won't let me see you?"  
"What you've just told me...all that they're putting you through...what if it wasn't worth it? What if you regretted..."  
"You're worth it." Dean says, immediately. "I'm the one who..."  
"You're beautiful." Angel says, suddenly.  
Dean stops, shocked. "You've seen me?"  
"Yes." Angel admits. "I had to...I needed to find out if I was really as disappointing as I thought..."  
"Then you have to let me see you." Dean says, his voice getting louder. "C'mon, this isn't fair."  
Angel pauses.  
"You're right." He admits.  
"Please?" Dean asks. "Let me see you."  
"...I'm scared." Angel says, in a tiny voice unlike the one Dean knows and loves. He wishes he could reach out and touch him, just his shoulder, to make him feel  
okay – strong and in control again.  
"You don't have to be." Dean promises. "I love you. And I don't care what I haven't seen, I know you. That's what matters."  
Angel is quiet.  
"I need you to go to Novak Electricals tomorrow, instead of going to school...do you know where that is?"  
"Sure...why?"  
"Just go there." Angel says firmly. "I'll...meet you there."  
"Okay." Dean agrees readily.  
"I love you too." Angel tells him. "And...if you don't...if you get there and I'm not...what you want...can you just leave? Can you not...I don't want you to..."  
"I'd never make fun of you." Dean says it like it's the most unthinkable thing in the world. Because it is. "Never."  
"Then I'll see you tomorrow."  
"Can't wait." Dean murmurs.  
*Chapter 8*:  
More updates!  
Castiel wakes up the next day, looks up at the ceiling, and feels his entire body prickle with excitement and fear.  
Today, Dean will meet him, see him, and the idea both scares and gratifies him. What he wants, what he dreams will happen, is that Dean will want him, and  
want him with the same kind of ferocity with which Castiel wants him. But, he is hyperaware, that Dean is gorgeous, and strong, and painfully out of his league.  
He is almost certain that Dean will take one look at him, and either laugh, or pity him. He doesn't know which would be worse.  
But still, the part of him that is not certain of Dean's rejection, hopes with a strength and passion that Castiel wasn't aware that he was capable of.  
He tells Luc that he isn't going to school, because he wants to work overtime in the store. Luc responds with a grunt, and hands him a postcard from their  
parents, with lions on it. It tells him that they're having a good time, but it's hot, and the food is bad, and they hope to make more headway soon.  
Castiel can't face breakfast, so he drinks a glass of water and watches the clock, waiting for Dean to arrive. He casts his eyes to the security grille covered  
windows, past the grey banks of old computer modems and monitors, strung with dusty, unresponsive mice, and out onto the street.  
Boys pass in the uniform of Dean's school, and of Castiel's own school. Then no one comes along for a while, and Castiel begins to fear that Dean is not  
coming, that he would rather brave the bullies on his own than see him, and Castiel can't blame him – he'd disappointed Dean, first by running from him, then by  
lying to him. God, he could hardly blame Dean for not coming, when he now knew that Castiel had as little control of his emotions as any other teenager, rank  
with hormones.  
Still, he had done his best to prove himself, and that had involved calling in a few favours to make sure that Dean was protected. Castiel felt a slight warmth  
grow in his chilly stomach, perhaps he wasn't such a disappointment after all.  
The bell over the door rings, and Castiel looks up from his place in the rear of the shop, standing up and leaving the breakfast table to enter the shop proper.  
Dean's there, standing just inside the door, his school bag over one arm, one hand nervously twisting the strap. He's wearing his uniform, and Castiel surmises  
that Dean had left home as normal, and then must have hidden from the rest of the students, before making his way here.  
Dean looks at him, and for a second Castiel is paralysed by the total lack of recognition on his features. He can actually see the realisations spilling over as  
Dean recognises him as the boy from his school, then the boy who had sold him the game when he was last here – and finally, Dean's eyes turn shadowy with  
shock, and he takes a short breath. And he knows.  
"Angel?"  
Castiel nods, finding his throat dry, and his mouth stoppered up.  
Dean shifts his weight from foot to foot, and glances at him repeatedly, as if unable to fully look at him, but unable to look away. Castiel's heart falls. Dean is  
disappointed, he can see it.  
"You...uh...don't have to stay." Castiel finally gets out.  
Dean's shoulders sag a little in his blazer, probably from relief. Castiel shrugs, arms limp at his sides. "I know I'm not exactly what you expected."  
Dean looks at him like he's daring himself to do it. "No, you're...you're a little different, but...you're..." He looks Castiel over, and Castiel looks down at himself  
bitterly.  
"I know what I am."  
(-*-)  
Dean actually can't believe what he's seeing. The guy from the store, the guy he'd sat with at lunch, is Angel. It's unreal.  
He's been fantasising about Angel for months, talking with him for hours, replaying his words in his head during the day. There have been times when he's  
dreamt of that voice, of a complexly layered darkness that rustled and fluffed around him like shifting fabric. To have that voice tied down to one person, one  
body, is so weird. Angel...in his mind at least, has always been bigger than him, stronger, older, smarter. Looking at him now, well, Dean's almost afraid to look  
at him, because he just radiates...focus. It's the only way Dean can describe it, but from his bright blue eyes, to his nimble fingers, Angel, or rather, Castiel, is  
wire tense and focused as a laser beam. Like nothing is hidden for him, especially nothing of Dean's. It's weirdly almost nice, like how people must feel when  
they confess their sins. Only he doesn't have to say a word.  
Aside from that, the weird crystalline clarity of Angel in person, Dean's almost scared of how perfect he is. Angel is literally flawless. Electric white skin, shockblue  
eyes, and evenly spaced, almost expertly rendered features.  
He's never felt shittier in his life. Angel's practically a freaking God, and he's just...he's a stupid schoolboy in his fuck ugly uniform, standing there like an idiot,  
looking as awkward and cumbersome as he feels.  
He realises that they're just standing there, looking at each other. Angel's waiting for him to go, and Dean really doesn't want to. Because what Angel's telling  
him is true – they both know what Angel is, strong, beautiful, powerful...and that Dean just isn't what a guy like that is looking for. He knew it. Even from the start  
he'd know he was lucky to have every moment he got of Angel's attention, but to have it actually be over is almost too painful, especially with the rest of his life  
crumbling around him.  
"I don't want to go." Dean says, hesitantly.  
Castiel looks at him curiously. "Oh?"  
"No...I...can we sit and, talk? I mean...we only just met, I know we've been..." he can't quite find words to describe what they've been doing, because it's so much  
more than just a mutual fantasy. Angel has been his strength for the last few months, his lifeline. "But...I'm here now and...I can't just walk away from you, just  
because I'm not...what I really want to be."  
"You want to be...?" Castiel echoes.  
"Of course I do." Dean says, unable to fathom why Castiel would think he wouldn't change in a heartbeat, to be everything he needed, just to keep him. "If I  
was...look, I know I'm not...right. I don't look like..." He bites his tongue, and when he next speaks, his words are bitter. "I don't look like I should be grabbing  
ankle for anyone...and hanging out online, getting messages from all these twinky guys, wanting me to...fuck them or...and I am just like them, and no one, no  
one – took me seriously until you." Dean shifts nervously, hardly believing that those words just came out of his mouth. "I want to, keep you...or, have you keep  
me, I don't know ok?"  
The look on Castiel's face is indecipherable, and Dean finds he's holding his breath as he waits for the other boy to respond. In only a few seconds he could  
find himself outside the shop, in the street, alone and truant, without a friend anywhere. But at least he'll have been honest. At least he tried to fight for what he  
wanted – even if the only thing he could fight was his own fear.  
(-*-)  
It's almost as if Dean's words dissolve the barrier between them, and Castiel is suddenly aware that...there is nothing between them. No crackling internet or  
phone connection, no plywood stall, no fear in his chest, choking him into silence. Dean wants him, not only that, but Dean believes himself to be lacking – an  
idea so incredible that Castiel was almost convinced that Dean was playing some kind of cruel trick on him. But no, Dean really is convinced of his own failings.  
It's like being invited to see a wonderful treasure, something you could never hope to own for yourself, and at last being told that it is yours after all – and better,  
it has always been yours.  
Castiel closes the space between them, and touches his nervous hands to Dean's waist, gently tracing them upwards, under his shirt, to touch the belt that  
encloses him. He leans up a little, until their faces are level, lips almost touching, hardly daring to breathe. He slides one hand down, taking hold of Dean's hand  
with almost fearful care.  
"Then, you're kept." He says, heart faltering as he waits for it, the rejection, the scorn. Instead, a look of absolute relief dawns on Dean's face – literally, it is like  
the sun coming out, and gratitude radiates from him as Castiel leads him, partly lost in disbelief, towards the stairs that lead to his bedroom.  
*Chapter 9*:  
More updates!  
Dean pushes the door open, and steps into the room. It's small, and warm, and the curtains are closed, making it close and dark. The door closes behind him,  
and he hears the small bolt snap into place, locking it.  
He looks at the stack of old computer stuff on the desk, the neatly ordered papers and tools, and the small single bed, with its blue and white striped duvet.  
Dean bites his lip, and feels a little spike of nerves go up his spine. What is this going to be like? What is he going to...  
Castiel's arm cinches gently around his waist, and Dean can feel the length of Castiel's body against his back. The dark haired boy brushes his lips against the  
skin behind Dean's ear, and Dean has to bite down on a whimper. It feels so good, so much better than anything he's done to himself on Angel's say-so.  
"I was right...you look gorgeous in uniform." Castiel tells him, hands sweeping over the fabric in question, one fist pulling it tight, the other palm admiring the  
shape of Dean's body through his shirt, tracing over his stomach. Dean leans back against him.  
"I want to take it off." Dean tells him, feeling shaky because, well, he's never actually been naked in front of anyone before. He's rewarded with a deep kiss  
against the side of his neck.  
"In a while." Castiel promises. He turns Dean around and looks at him, eyes wide and blue and so, so dark that Dean forgets how to breathe for about half a  
second. Castiel looks at him as if he's trying to puzzle him out. "God, you're just so pretty." Castiel murmurs, and Dean feels a hitch of gratitude before Castiel  
kisses him, and then all he can feel are soft lips and his slick, sneaky tongue, and teasing teeth, the slight scratch of stubble against his own shaven face just  
enough to make every nerve ending flare up.  
It's so much better than he thought it would be, then when he'd pressed his face into his pillow and moaned because of Angel's imagined touch. Now, Castiel  
holds him close, and kisses him deeply, trailing small kisses along his jaw and nuzzling his cheek until Dean's breathless with excitement.  
Then Castiel pauses, and looks at him, a small frown appearing on his face.  
"When did you last sleep properly?"  
Dean's a little distracted, and he blinks, unfocused. "Uhhh...a while ago, I guess."  
Castiel kisses him again, and nudges Dean gently towards the bed.  
"What are we...I mean, what's going to happen?" Dean asks.  
"We, are going...to get naked...together, and I'm going to touch you..." Castiel kisses Dean's throat. "Kiss you...lick you...tease you..."  
Dean's breath escapes him in a rush,  
"I'm going to make you come, hard...as many times as I can..." Castiel's hands brush Dean's clothed ass. "And then I'm going to make sure you sleep, and  
rest...before we start again."  
Dean sinks down onto the bed, and Castiel straddles his lap, hands firm on Dean's shoulders. Dean's palms grip his waist. Castiel kisses as if he will never get  
enough of the taste of Dean's mouth, like he's never kissed before, but wants so badly to never stop. Dean grips his back, and when Castiel pushes forwards,  
laying him flat on the bed, he only huffs, and spreads his legs so that Castiel can fit between them.  
He's never had someone lie on top of him before, rubbing against him so close. It feels so good, and he starts to harden almost immediately, even before  
Castiel sits back and grasps the two sides of his Matherson school shirt, pulling it sharply apart, sending buttons all over the bed, rolling to the floor.  
Dean looks from his ruined shirt to Castiel's surprised eyes.  
"I didn't..." Castiel starts, but Dean rolls his hips, stretching out and swallowing, and the words die in Cas's mouth. He runs his fingers over Dean's chest,  
tangling them in the chain around his waist.  
Dean just looks up at him, waiting, with a stomach full of hot, tense knots, waiting for Castiel to tell him what to do.  
"Put your hands up, over your head." He says it as if unsure as to whether Dean will actually do it.  
He raises his arms, resting his hands on the bed above him, looking at Castiel.  
The dark haired teenager leans over him, and nuzzles his bicep, kissing his chest, fingers tracing absent patterns on Dean's skin. Dean can't help but feel like a  
pet, like something owned and cared for. And it feels so good that he can't help squirming.  
"Freckles." Castiel observes, fingering the small brown speckles on Dean's skin, then licking one gently, running his teeth against one fleck that joins the circle  
of Dean's right nipple. Dean arches into the contact, and just like that, Castiel is gone, standing up and crossing the room, fiddling with an old CD player.  
"For privacy." He explains, as a jumble of pop noises emerge from the dusty speakers, music that Dean can't even focus on enough to find it annoying.  
Castiel pulls his own shirt over his head, hesitantly, and Dean can't help but stare. He looks like he's been carved out of pale wood. Blemish less, taught and  
wiry. Castiel's nervous fingers wander to the fastening of his pants. He nips his bottom lip, then undoes them and shucks them to the floor. Wearing a pair of  
black boxers, he steps forwards and undoes Dean's belt with snappy fingers. Dean swallows, watching Casitel work the leather strip free, before he unbuttons  
the top of the school slacks, and draws down the zipper.  
Castiel slides Dean's underwear off along with his boxers, and straddles him again, hands wandering over Dean's chest and stomach, coming to rest on his  
abdomen. Dean shifts, the light touch making his heart skip.  
Castiel looks down at him, and Dean meets his eyes, filled with nervous anticipation when he sees the desire there. Castiel lines his body up with Dean's, and  
presses down against him.  
They kiss lazily, then more ferociously, Dean giving to each bite and lick of Castiel's mouth. This close, there's almost no awkwardness in the way that they  
touch, hands tracing over each other, gripping, squeezing, stroking. The only thing keeping Dean's cock from touching Castiel's is that thin layer of cotton, and  
he's painfully aware of that as he rubs up against the other teenager's body.  
Castiel wriggles out of his underwear sinuously, and they touch for the first time, fully. Dean knows he moans, quite loudly at that, but Castiel swallows it and  
tugs gently at his hair, reminding him to keep quiet. It's a challenge, especially when Castiel wraps his hand around both of them – Dean doesn't know which  
feels better, the firm press of Cas's fingers, or the silky bump and slide of his cock. All the while, their mouths barely part, and both of them gasp for breath as  
Dean's body shakes, and his cock gives a warning jump, and a spit of come, before pulsing fully over Castiel's hand. Dean can't help it, he groans, and his  
whole body shakes again. He can still feel Castiel toying with the head of his cock, swollen an angry red, even as it produces more come. Dean bites his lip, it  
almost hurts, like Castiel's fingering a livid nerve, but it hurts so good that Dean just wants him to keep doing it. Making his nerves jangle harshly again and  
again and...  
Castiel slides up his body, kneeling over his chest.  
"Do you remember..." he asks, his voice cracking a little, cock still hard and heavy, the barest touch on Dean's chest. "What I told you about your freckles?"  
Dean does, and he takes a short breath, nodding. Castiel reaches back, one hand cruelly starting to pet Dean's sensitive dick, the other wrapping around his  
own erection, pumping smoothly.  
They both jerk and shiver, and Dean's breathing gets more and more erratic as he waits, not knowing when it's going to happen, only knowing that it will.  
Castiel's hips rise to meet his hand, and his eyes flutter closed. When he finally comes, he makes no sound, but breathes out, a long, deeply satisfied breath,  
looking down to where he's slowly milking himself over Dean's chest, painting over the deep brown speckles on his skin.  
Dean looks up at him, enraptured, and leans up to accept a kiss, before Castiel lies down on top of him once more.  
Castiel's body is flush to his, warm and naked, his skin so smooth that Dean just lies back and catches his breath. There are small, hot speckles of come still  
on his face, and Castiel nuzzles his way to them, licking them away with the tip of his tongue. Kissing his skin contentedly. Their stomachs are flush, Dean's  
slightly rounded, soft with that irritating final hint of 'baby fat', Castiel's flat and smooth against it. He can feel Cas's dick, slowly turning limp against his, rubbing  
gently mirroring Castiel's delicate affections to his face.  
Castiel lays his forehead against Dean's and sighs.  
"I had no idea it would feel like this." He whispers, and Dean slides his hands up, cupping the back of Castiel's thighs and stroking lightly, feeling the fine hair  
on his skin, still a little damp with sweat.  
"Me neither." Dean kisses him, and Castiel hums in the back of his throat, eyes fluttering closed.  
Dean is quite happy to let Castiel lie comfortably on top of him, warm, lazy limbs on his own. He closes his own eyes, lets out a sigh, and focuses on the way  
Castiel's body swells against his with every breath.  
*Chapter 10*:  
Gah! Lack of updates :P Sorry guys, I'm just trying to write two novels, meet all my uni deadlines, go to work (because I just got a job – wooo!) and keep my  
house clean – as well as writing updates. I really miss being able to write fanfiction all the time  
The door whipping open surprises them both.  
One moment, it's just Castiel and Dean, in the warm yellowish light, their skin soft and damp and hot. The next, there's bright white sunshine coming through the  
open door, along with cold air, and the long shadow of Castiel's brother.  
Castiel sits up instantly.  
"Luc..." he tumbles off of Dean, snatching at the sheet to cover himself as he reaches for his shirt. "Luc, it's..."  
Dean covers himself up with his sheet and looks, wide eyed, between Castiel and his older brother.  
Luc looks grave and disappointed. "Downstairs Castiel. And put some clothes on." He sighs.  
Once Luc is gone, Castiel, blushing ferociously, quickly pulls his pants back on. He picks up Dean's scattered clothes and lays them on the end of the bed for  
him.  
"Don't go." He asks, and Dean nods.  
Castiel goes downstairs.  
Luc is sitting at the kitchen table, several brightly coloured cards at his elbow. He looks tired, and there are computer components on the counter and the floor,  
a sure sign that he's been engrossed in his work. Castiel cautiously takes a seat across from him.  
"Please don't tell Mom and Dad." He asks, "Luc, this is the first time, I promise..."  
"They know Castiel."  
Castiel looks at him, shocked speechless.  
Luc sighs. "Why did you think you were here?"  
"They...they went to do missionary work...overseas."  
Luc shakes his head. "That ended a month ago. They've been living at home."  
Castiel stares at him. His parents are back in America? Living in their home, and they haven't sent for him? The last word he got from them was that little letter,  
probably held up in the mail. They haven't called, or written since coming home.  
"Why haven't they come to get me?"  
Luc lowers his eyes to the table. "They found...things. On your computer."  
"Oh."  
Castiel knows exactly what they must have seen. His carefully hidden folder of porn – a folder within a folder, within a folder – titled 'School Work' – 'Essays' –  
'Works in Progress'. He hadn't known they'd go looking that deeply, he was so sure they'd never find it. But they had. It wasn't just porn either. There was the guy  
on guy stuff that would have been enough for his parents to really freak out, possible even enough to get them to disown him. But it was the other stuff – guys in  
collars, guys tied up, guys shared around a group like they were cigarettes. Whips, gags, chains, cock cages...they must think he's a monster.  
The silence sits over them for a while, until Luc says, "They don't really speak to me much anymore anyway...not since I went atheist. But...they asked if I'd take  
care of you, make sure you got the money for college. They're sending all your things on..."  
Castiel laughs, surprising himself.  
Luc gives him a sad, pitying look. "They just wanted you to have a chance to get used to it, before you had to stay here permanently. No point upsetting you  
when you're finishing high school."  
"You mean they didn't want a fuss." Castiel surmises. It's typical of their parents, always avoiding the confrontation, dealing out their punishments with pinched  
lips and puritan discipline. He loved them, or, he'd thought he loved them. They were his parents after all. But, maybe they'd never really loved him, not since  
he'd grown up a little. All those pictures of cherubic babies, him and his brothers in the choir and at Christmas. The pictures that stopped around the time he  
was thirteen. When they'd lost interest.  
Sitting in the kitchen, still sweaty and smelling Dean all over himself, Castiel is filled with anger, but not at himself. He's angry at his parents, and angry with Luc  
for keeping the truth from him.  
"I'm not going to stop you seeing him." Luc says, as if sensing his brother's rage.  
"Good, because there's no point in trying."  
Luc sighs, and reaches over to the counter, plucking up a brown paper bag and sliding it over to Castiel. "Just...look after yourself, and...you can talk to me,  
about anything that's going on, ok?"  
Castiel opens the bag. Condoms and lube. He has to appreciate the gesture, no matter how heavy handed.  
"Thanks."  
Luc shrugs. "Maybe you should go back upstairs and make sure he's ok."  
"His name's Dean."  
"Make sure Dean's ok then."  
Castiel manages a small smile, before he gets up and takes the bag upstairs. He realises on then, that he's wearing Dean's school shirt, which is much too big  
for him.  
Dean's sitting on the bed still, pants on, Castiel's shirt folded neatly on the end of the bed. His heart kind of thumps at that – the fact that Dean has refolded his  
shirt.  
He looks up as Castiel comes in, his face a mixture of hope and anxiety. Castiel feels quite touched at his concern. He unfastens his pants and kicks them off,  
before climbing back onto the bed and drops the bag there, scooting up beside Dean.  
"Luc's not mad."  
Dean actually seems to sag with relief. "Good, couldn't believe it when he walked in, I thought..."  
"I wouldn't let anyone tell me I couldn't see you anymore." Castiel says. "Anyway, Luc is ok with it, he gave me that-" he points to the bag, from the top of which  
the box of condoms is protruding. "Turns out my parents dumped me on him...they found some stuff on my computer that made them rethink their position on  
loving me for the rest of their lives."  
Dean's face betrays his horror. "No...they couldn't have just..."  
"They did." Castiel frowns. "I'm not even that sad about it." He glances up at Dean, raising a hand to further tousle his light brown hair. "I don't want to dwell on it  
thought, lets see what's happening to those assholes at your school."  
Dean blinks. "What did you do?"  
"Well," Castiel shrugs, "at my school, there's a guy who can kind of...get things done for you. In a way that no one can ever pin on him...his name's Crowley."  
"Some kid at your school?"  
"Actually, he's the headmaster's son." Castiel smiles, "I gave him a hundred bucks to rough up some of the bullies at Matherson...and to take care of that  
bastard gym teacher."  
"What are they going to do?"  
Castiel gets up and goes to his computer, shaking the mouse to wake it up. "See for yourself."  
He clicks on the skype link for Crowley, and waits for the video to come online. At first, it just looks dark, then Crowley's face appears, pale against the  
background.  
"You're late." Crowley gripes.  
"I was busy."  
Apparently, Crowley catches a glimpse of Dean in the video frame. He grins filthily. "Ahhh, I can see that."  
"Did you get it?"  
"Did you, or did you not, pay me to steal the teacher's car?"  
"Yes, I did."  
"Then it's bloody stolen, isn't it?" Crowley rolls his eyes. "He had the day off, according to the office, so we just set his garbage on fire, then nipped round the  
back and nicked the car. Easy."  
"Great." Castiel says, at exactly the same time that Dean says, "You stole his car!"  
"He can have it back when he apologises." Castiel says, "They left a note to that effect." he turns back to the video, "You did leave a note, right?"  
"Well, hardly a note...more of a 'Fags for Justice' burnt into his lawn in three foot high letters." Crowley says apologetically, "One of my guys...got a little carried  
away with the accelerant...I just can't find good help these days."  
"Oh..."  
"Speaking of, there might be a little issue with the car..."  
Castiel closes his eyes. "What?"  
"You know how basically, if he didn't start being a little nicer, we were going to crush it at Bobby's and send the cube to his house?"  
"Yes."  
"Well, the crushing is now no longer strictly optional..."  
"What?"  
"It was just too tempting – and in fairness he'd run out of stuff to burn..."  
"Fine. What about the Matherson boys?"  
Crowley smirks. "Next time, challenge me a little - they were far, far too easy."  
"You didn't get carried away?" Castiel actually looks nervous.  
"Two of them just got some bruises, bloody noses – one of them, one of the ringleaders of that facebook page? Four broken fingers and a minor concussion."  
Dean looks quite shaken, Castiel turns to him. "Sorry, is this...I didn't want to make things worse, or make you feel responsible..."  
"It's..." Dean shakes his head. "I don't feel bad...I just, wish I'd had the guts to do something myself." He frowns. "Ok, maybe I feel a little bad about his car  
getting crushed."  
"Eh," Crowley puts in. "He crushed your spirit, I crushed his Honda. Fair's fair."  
There's a short silence.  
"He drives a Prias." Dean says.  
Crowley sighs. "Bloody...I am never working with that idiot again...I'll fix it, don't worry."  
He disconnects the call, and Castiel stares at the blank screen.  
"I have a feeling, that maybe bringing him into this was a mistake." He says.  
Dean just laughs, and turns the chair round so he can kiss him.  
*Chapter 11*:  
Gah! Lack of updates :P Sorry guys, I'm just trying to write two novels, meet all my uni deadlines, go to work (because I just got a job – wooo!) and keep my  
house clean – as well as writing updates. I really miss being able to write fanfiction all the time  
With the music on, it's easy to forget that there's a world outside of Castiel's little room. That Luc is downstairs working, the radio playing in the kitchen.  
Somewhere the school day is unwinding, reeling out in lessons and lunch periods. Dean's parents are working, and Castiel's are probably packing his things,  
making their home clean and good once more. Leaving his room there a bare, empty square of space.  
In the rectangle of soft warm bed, none of it matters.  
Castiel leans up on his elbow, watching Dean, who's lying on his back, his eyes resting shut. Their hands are twined together on Dean's stomach, where  
Castiel's fingers can toy with the chain around his lover's waist.  
He's so completely, blissfully happy that it actually surprises him.  
There's nothing between them and the air in the room, they're both completely naked, and the air is still, dark and warm. The music is quiet, but it covers any  
outside sound. Castiel leans over and breathes gently on Dean's freckled nipple, watching as the soft, flat skin swells to a point, tightening and pebbling as  
Dean shivers. Castiel takes it into his mouth, running his lips over it first, then his tongue, his teeth. He doesn't stop until Dean actually makes a sound, a little  
choked off moan. Then he draws back, pinches it between his fingers, and twists, just a little. Dean gasps, his eyes opening, pupils deep and dark.  
Castiel looks straight into them, and pinches his nipple again.  
He plays with both, pinching, leaning in to suck them softly, nipping at them until both smooth nubs of sand-brown skin are reddened and needy and hardened  
beyond the point of simple arousal.  
Castiel pulls back, his lips damp and his mouth filled with the taste of Dean's skin. They're both hard, he notices, almost absently, his cock is bobbing by his  
stomach, Dean's is curved and red against the top of his thigh.  
"Please." Dean whispers.  
Castiel climbs on top of him, sliding between his legs.  
"If I wanted to do this to you..." he says, tweaking one of Dean's already painfully sensitized nipples. "...and just keep going, for hours...you'd let me, wouldn't  
you?"  
Dean nods, tongue sneaking to wet his lips. Castiel leans over him and their mouths meet, as gentle as his attentions to Dean's chest were torturous.  
"I..." Castiel breaks away and looks at him. "I think, if you're ready...I want..."  
Dean just opens his legs, body limp and trusting, and nods.  
"You want this?" Castiel asks.  
"Yes."  
Castiel touches his fingers to Dean's mouth, tracing the corner gently.  
"Yes Master." Dean whispers.  
When Castiel kisses him, it's like being rewarded, as if he's won a really important prize. Dean relishes every second of it. They kiss lazily, and Dean lets  
Castiel touch him and move him however he wants, touching back in return, until Castiel nudges him, and draws back to turn him onto his stomach.  
Dean rolls over, feeling the sheets, soft and smooth under him. He's completely naked, bare back and ass and legs completely open to Castiel's gaze...and  
Dean finds he doesn't mind at all. He opens his legs without being told, and stretches a little, feeling the muscles in his back shift and stretch.  
Castiel laughs softly. "Slut.' He says, but fondly, Dean knows that Castiel thinks he's pretty, and it warms him through his whole body.  
Castiel's hands on him is almost enough to send Dean over the edge. They're strong and quick and careful, and they knead his back, his shoulders and the dip  
of his spine until Dean is practically drooling into the bed – he feels so relaxed. Even if his dick is prodding the mattress, aching for a bit of that touch to come  
it's way. He can work to Castiel's time scale. He wants to.  
Dean feels the other boy pull back, spreading his full, rounded ass cheeks with his thumbs.  
There's a silence during which Dean swallows, and feels his stomach rock with nerves. The one of Castiel's fingers trails lightly over him, where no one else has  
ever touched him like this.  
"You're perfect."  
Dean closes his eyes, and tries to breath. Because it shouldn't undo him, hearing that, from another guy, should not make him want to bury his face in the sheet  
and whimper in gratitude, but it does. And it feel so good he almost wants to cry.  
When Castiel kisses him there, Dean does cry out, and shivers against the sheets. Castiel seems satisfied with that, and licks him ever so lightly, until Dean  
writhes and begs and clutches the bedding in shaking fingers, and says 'I can't take anymore – please, please Cas'.  
And Castiel picks up the bottle of lube in the paper bag that his brother had given him, and pours some of the thick, clear fluid onto his fingers. He rubs them  
against Dean gently, painting the pink clench of his ass with the glistening lube.  
Dean closes his eyes and lets his body go limp.  
He doesn't even have to tell Castiel to be careful, because he knows that he will be.  
Castiel teases him open with clever, devious fingers, and Dean fucks slowly against the bed, quick, small movements that rub smooth cotton against his hot,  
aching dick. He comes back to himself when something smooth and round touches his entrance. He jumps, and Castiel kisses the cheek of his ass, running the  
first tiny bead in a string of graduated silicone balls over the pouting pucker of his hole.  
"It's ok, I was just..."  
"I know." Dean assures him.  
"I want to put these inside you." Castiel says softly, like he's asking for permission, and Dean gives it in the limpness of his posture.  
The beads are slick and smooth, and the first three barely register, running cool and small over his insides. After that, he can feel the stretch, the push of each  
bead as it goes into him, and the fifth one makes him grunt, and bury his face in the mattress. Castiel pauses, but when Dean doesn't say anything, he  
continues. His pace is slow, considered – not slow enough for Dean to get bored or calm down, not so fast that he feels pushed along. It's just right, like  
everything else Castiel does for him.  
The last bead stretches him painfully, and Dean has to fight to relax his muscles. Castiel turns the beads this way and that, gently applying more lube to his rim  
and working it into him.  
Then, without hesitation, he starts to draw the beads out.  
Dean can't help it, he moans. A long, helpless moan that comes from somewhere deep inside of him, a helpless twisted place. It feels good. He hadn't known  
that it would feel like this. There's a little pain, but mostly it's just pleasure, shivering though him. Castiel's teeth nip him on the ass cheek, and Dean whimpers,  
his very core lighting up white with pleasure.  
When the last bead slides free, Dean sags onto the mattress, rung out and sweating, but happy. Like he was made for this – to be lying on his belly for Castiel's  
enjoyment. By some miracle he hasn't come, though he feels like he has.  
Castiel toys with him gently, giving him the first three beads, then taking them away, tracing his hole with a finger, sliding it in, taking it out, sliding three in all at  
once, then leaving him with nothing – until Dean's writhing on the bed, wanting anything that'll reach down inside of him and fill him up.  
Quick, precise fingers worry and spank his loosened ass, and it sends sparks up Dean's spine, starting a fire in his skin. Dean doesn't realise he's saying  
anything until the words fall out of his mouth.  
"Mmm...that's...so good...don't stop...love you..."  
Castiel kisses the base of his spine. "I love you too Dean."  
Dean relaxes, the momentary tension dissolving into pleasure once more.  
"Open your legs for me." Casitel tells him.  
Dean does.  
"More."  
Dean does, until he feel completely naked, vulnerable and exposed.  
Castiel's body covers his, making him warm again, the blunt head of his cock slipping against him, rubbing against him pointedly.  
He hears the condom packet being ripped open, and then Castiel moves away for a second.  
Then it's time, and the moment where Dean loses his virginity just kind of happens. One moment Castiel is outside of him, and the next, he's pushing in. In, in,  
in. And Dean flat out moans into the bed, and lets Castiel hold him down, and doesn't stop crying out until he's stretched wide open, all the way down, full and  
desperate and curling his toes on the mattress.  
This is Castiel's first time as well, and for all that he's in control, showing Dean the way – he's just as scared, and just as uncertain. Seeing Dean laid out for  
him, being able to touch and torment him to his heart's content had been a revelation, and the feel of Dean around him is indescribable. He knows that he's  
going to last mere minutes, and he doesn't even care, he feels so good. All the while he'd been playing with Dean he'd been leaking nonstop, hard and waiting  
for this. Now he feels warm from the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair, and he's balanced on a knife edge between coming and holding off.  
It's somewhat gratifying when he doesn't even have to touch Dean. The other boy has had too much already, and it takes one tiny movement of Castiel's dick  
inside of him to throw his overstimulated body into orgasm.  
Dean pushes back against him, shivers, groans and apologises. Castiel's blood heats up at that – Dean asking him to forgive him for not being able to hold out  
– for not giving him what he needed. He strokes Dean's hair and tells him that he is extraordinary, and that he's doing everything right.  
Because it's true.  
Castiel can't imagine anything better than getting to fuck Dean's spent, loose body while the other boy whimpers and sighs and murmurs endearments. The  
way Dean feels, the solidness of his body, the looseness of his muscles, Castiel feels like he's won out in some kind of contest. When he pulls Dean back by  
his shoulder, sitting him up so he can thrust up into him, Dean makes a sound that's somehow both gruff and puppyish, and Castiel comes with his forehead  
pressed to Dean's sweating shoulder, a smile teasing his lips even has he shudders with release.  
He's never been this happy in his life.  
*Chapter 12*:  
Gah! Lack of updates :P I'm getting to it, don't worry.  
Castiel actually starts to drift off mere seconds after lying down on the bed, but when the mattress shivers and Dean drags himself off of the bed, he opens his  
eyes and forces himself to stay awake.  
"Are you..." he starts, watching Dean pick up his baggy shirt and pull it on.  
"Bathroom?" Dean asks, a pretty blush painting his cheeks and neck.  
Castiel gets it. "First door to the right."  
Dean bolts off, and Castiel leans back and closes his eyes.  
Dean returns a few minutes later, and climbs back into bed, scrunching down under the covers. "That was embarrassing."  
"That's what happens." Castiel murmurs, "We'll do it properly next time...I actually have an enema thing around here somewhere..."  
Dean makes a humiliated sound, and Castiel smiles, rolling over to pull Dean into his arms. "You were amazing."  
Dean looks at him, throat working in a swallow, green eyes lit up with pride and pleasure. "You felt really good...Christ Cas, you...everything you did to me was  
like, like you'd planned it all, just for me."  
"I was making it up as I went." Castiel confesses. "But...I've been thinking about it for a while."  
"Me too." Dean murmurs. He moves a little and lets out a small moan. "It's like I can still feel you in there."  
Castiel wets his lips, looking at Dean speculatively. Dean looks back at him, unwavering.  
"I swear, if I could have you in me all the time, just like that, I would never leave this bed."  
Castiel kisses him, working his way from Dean's mouth, down his body, sucking gently at the lower part of his navel, trailing his tongue over the gold hair on his  
belly. It's perhaps the only time that he finds his uncontrollable teenage libido to be helpful, rather than embarrassing or torturous. He's hard again within ten  
minutes, and Dean is halfway there himself, come still drying on his stomach as he thrusts upwards against the air and opens his legs wantonly.  
It feels just as good the second time, if not better. Dean's looser, somehow hotter, and clenching desperately all the way down. The sounds he makes are  
amazing, as if he's been without a dick inside of him for years, as opposed to minutes. Castiel leans over him and whispers against his ear, words he's never  
used before.  
"Already such a little cock slut."  
And Dean just groans in agreement, and opens himself wider.  
They spend all day like that, lying around naked and exhausted, waiting for Castiel to get hard again. There are times when Dean just can't wait, even though  
he's sore and tired too. He wriggles on the bed while Castiel touches him and tells him he's gorgeous and greedy and perfect, and when he's finally rewarded  
with Castiel back inside of him, or the beads filling his body up, he moans and whimpers and realises that he has never felt this good, this right, in his entire life.  
Castiel never hurts him, never takes him too far too fast – it's like he knows Dean inside and out, knows exactly what he wants, and only gives it to him when  
Dean can't take going without a second longer.  
When they're finally too exhausted to go anymore, Castiel takes Dean back to the bathroom, runs a tub of warm water, and helps him get in. Dean winces every  
time he moves, he definitely took it too far for his first time, he aches all over, inside and out. But it was so worth it, and with Castiel washing him down with a  
soaped up cloth, he doesn't mind.  
They switch places, and Dean rests Castiel against his chest while he washes the smaller boy's stomach. Castiel hums to himself, and Dean presses his face  
to the damply curling hair on his lover's head.  
He's so contented, and the realisation that he's happy, is swiftly followed by the knowledge that this bubble of them, cannot possibly last forever.  
When they're back in Castiel's room, wrapped in old robes and sitting on the floor because the bed is ruined, Dean opens his mouth and voices the idea that's  
been with him ever since everyone at school found out about him.  
"I need to tell my parents."  
To his surprise, Castiel doesn't look at all displeased with the idea. "I think that would be for the best – before someone else tells them." He says.  
Dean nods.  
"Would you like me to be there with you?" Castiel asks.  
Dean nods again. "Like...today, maybe?"  
"Of course, we can go in about an hour, school will be out by then."  
Dean lies down on the carpet, laying his head in Castiel's lap. The other boy starts to play with his hair, and Dean is still amazed that someone who can call him  
a cock slut can touch him like this – can care for him so deeply. He loves it, all of it.  
"I don't know how I'm going to tell them about this." He says quietly.  
"About...?" But Castiel already knows.  
"I'm gonna tell them that I'm gay, obviously...but the rest...how do I explain this?"  
"You don't have to."  
"I know but...I don't want to lie, or keep it a secret. I don't want to feel like I'm hiding something for the rest of my life. Like those congressmen or whatever, with  
their secret sex dungeons under their three bed suburban house."  
"We are not having a sex dungeon," Castiel says, as if the very idea insults him, "and...you don't have to keep it a secret. But right now..."  
"Isn't the time to tell them." Dean says. "But...telling them half of what's going on with me still feels like a lie." He sighs, "this is just like...I don't know, like...I was  
born like this, I think I've always wanted, exactly this. I didn't choose it, and...it feels exactly the same as finding out that I'm gay – that I'm..."  
"Submissive."  
Dean looks at him, "You get it right? I mean, when you first worked out that you were a dom...you felt like...it was the only way you could ever be?"  
Castiel nods. "It was...terrifying. weird...I had no idea what it was, how I'd become like this...I understand Dean. I do. And we'll tell them...just not yet."  
"They're gonna hit the roof anyway." Dean sighs. "All the crap I've taken from guys at school, from strangers online...I don't think I can handle it from them."  
"Maybe you won't have to. They might surprise you."  
Dean huffs. "I can't hope for that...it'll just make it worse."  
After an hour of Castiel quietly petting Dean's hair, they get up and get dressed. Dean puts his crumpled uniform back on, and Castiel fishes out a fresh pair of  
jeans and a soft grey sweater. As they go downstairs, Luc comes out of the kitchen.  
"You boys ok?"  
"We're fine." Castiel tells him, "we're just...going to talk to Dean's parents."  
Luc gives him a long, searching look. "Want me to come with? Keep things civil?"  
"We'll be ok...but thanks." Castiel says, feeling a rush of affection for his older brother.  
Luc turns to Dean. "I'm Castiel's brother, nice to meet you Dean."  
"You too Sir."  
"He's polite." Luc says to Castiel, almost amused. "Dinner's at six. You can bring Dean back if you want."  
"I guess we'll see." Castiel says.  
"Good luck." Luc calls after them as they leave the shop.  
Castiel really hopes that they won't need it.  
*Chapter 13*:  
Gah! Lack of updates :P I'm getting to it, don't worry. I made this one a long'un just to make up for it (and to celebrate being well over halfway through my  
novel).  
"This is going to go badly." Dean says as they walk the way through town, towards his house.  
"It'll be fine. I'm here." Castiel reassures him.  
Dean doesn't say anything.  
"Hey," Castiel says gently, catching Dean's arm and pushing him softly into the doorway of the public library, which they're passing on their way up the street.  
"I'm here – and I'm always going to be here, even if your parents react badly, even if we have to go to separate collages, in separate states...even if you end up  
having to lie to them, if my whole family disowns me. I won't care. It'll hurt, but I'll still be here."  
Castiel presses Dean against the wall and kisses him in the shadows of the gloomy old building.  
"I'm going to love you, until it kills me." Castiel promises.  
Dean turns his mouth into the kiss, pulling Castiel against him and whimpering as the smaller boy's heat blocks out the chill of the stone at his back, and the  
uncertainty in his chest.  
"I love you." Dean says, helpless in the face of everything he feels – he knows this one thing. He loves Casitel. And even if he has to fight until he's broken and  
bloody – he'd going to stay with him.  
Castiel will take care of him.  
The act of kissing Castiel is electric, and Dean finds himself rubbing against him, his breath coming in short hitches as Castiel touches him. When the shorter  
boy's mouth moves to his neck, brushing against his pulse, Dean shivers and goes limp against the wall, prepared to let Castiel do whatever he wants.  
"Already?" Castiel murmurs, gentle fingers sneaking down to stroke the beginnings of a bulge in Dean's school slacks.  
Dean swallows, and Castiel nips at his throat, rubbing his own slowly hardening cock against Dean's through their clothes.  
"A few hours ago – you were a virgin." Castiel reminds him, "Now look at you, look at us...I already need you again."  
He kisses him on the mouth, hard and bruising, until Dean grabs his hand and slides Castiel's fingers under the waistband of his pants.  
Castiel holds Dean against the wall, palm massaging him until he's fully hard, squeezing and stroking. It doesn't take much – the work of his quick, damp  
fingers, and the firm press of his other hand against Dean's sore ass is enough to send the other boy over the edge with a muffled groan.  
Castiel wipes his hand on a crumpled tissue he finds in his pocket. Dean leans against the wall, shaking and satisfied, for the moment. He feels charged up  
and out of sync with the world – like he can't fully get back to reality – not when Castiel is here. Not when he could be with him again in only a few minutes.  
When he opens his eyes a few seconds later, he looks straight down at Castiel's crotch, reaching for it a moment afterwards.  
Castiel catches his hand.  
"After." He whispers, pressing close to Dean and burying his nose in his soft brown hair.  
"This. This is the stuff I can't explain to them." Dean mutters.  
"What? We're not allowed to be young and all over each other?" Castiel kisses the side of his face lightly.  
Dean looks up at him. "This doesn't scare you? How much...how close we are, already. Shit, I feel like if you went away I'd die. I wouldn't need to do anything. I'd  
just...stop."  
Castiel cups the sides of his face with both hands, pulling him in for a proper kiss, deep and practiced and so...grown up, that for a moment Dean forgets that  
he's wearing his school uniform. That he's only just about done with highschool, and that Castiel is some kid from the wrong side of town.  
He feels like a man, like an adult. And it's amazing and scary and dizzying all at once.  
"Nothing about us scares me." Castiel tells him. "Everything else...we'll handle."  
And Dean believes him, without question.  
When they reach Dean's house, Castiel looks up at it with interest. It's bigger than his own home, and better maintained. It is after all on the good side of town.  
Dean leads him up the front walk and is just about to unlock the front door when it's pulled open, revealing a thunderous looking dark haired man who must be  
Dean's father.  
"Where the hell have you been?"  
Dean is instantly a picture of guilt. "I can explain, I..."  
Dean's father pulls him forwards into a tight hug. "We were so worried. Christ Dean." He turns to yell over his shoulder, "Mary? He's home!"  
A blond woman and a miserable looking teenage boy come into the hallway. Dean's mother (they have the same eyes) rushes to put her arms around her son.  
Dean shoots the kid panicked eyes over her shoulder.  
"The school called Dad at work," he says, "they asked me...I had to show them."  
"What..." Dean starts.  
"Your computer." His Dad says. "All that stuff you've been hiding on your facebook page - all those terrible things people have been writing. We thought..." he  
shakes his head, still visibly distressed. "You hear all the time about kids just running away, or throwing themselves under trains...we were really worried Dean."  
His mother says.  
"Sorry." Dean squirms. "I...uh, I couldn't face school, so I went to..." he gestures "this is Cas. Casitel. I was with him. All day."  
For the first time, his parents look at Castiel, and Castiel looks back at them.  
"Hello." He says.  
"You're Dean's friend?" Dean's mother asks.  
Dean says it, even before Castiel looks at him. "He's my boyfriend."  
His Dad blinks. "I'm gonna need to sit down for this conversation."  
"John..." his wife says.  
"Don't be mad." Dean says quickly.  
"Mad?" John looks at him as if Dean's just asked him not to be an orang-utan. "I'm not mad you idiot boy, I'm...no, I am mad – at those meatheads you go to  
school with, and your blind-ass teachers. I'm not mad at you for being gay – might as well start being mad at Sam for breaking something every two seconds."  
"Hey!" Sam says, and takes a step forwards, promptly knocking over and end table.  
Dean's father sighs and looks at Castiel. "Why don't we go to the kitchen? Have some coffee, and just...talk this whole damn mess through?"  
They go into the kitchen, and John fills mugs with coffee on auto pilot while the rest of them take their seats at the breakfast table. Once they're all sitting down,  
steaming mugs on the table in front of them, Mary reaches out to her son across it's polished surface.  
"So...you're gay?"  
Dean nods.  
"How long have you...felt like this?" she asks.  
"Since like...I don't know, always." Dean swallows and glances at Castiel, "this is, I mean, Cas is the first guy I've...been with."  
There's a really uneasy silence, during which Castiel can hear the wall clock ticking from across the room. A drop of water falls from the faucet into the sink, and  
a bird takes noisy flight outside.  
"When you say...'been with'," John begins.  
"John, maybe now isn't the time to..." his wife interjects.  
"It's ok Mom," Dean balls his hand into a fist under the table, and Castiel reaches over and puts his hand over it. "Castiel and I, slept together."  
John frowns at the two of them. "Were you safe?"  
"Dad!" Dean looks appalled, and Sam shares his expression, his face crumpling up in disgust. "Dad, ewww!"  
"What? I'm not allowed to be worried about my son now?" John says, "Gay or not, I still get to give you the safe sex lecture – that's just a fact."  
"We were safe." Castiel says, and all eyes fall on him. "and I'm completely serious about your son."  
John and Mary share uncomfortably looks.  
John clears his throat, "Sammy, why don't you go do some homework?"  
"Dad!" Sam looks at him beseechingly.  
"We're going to be talking about sex, Sam." Dean tells him, "gross, me and Cas sex."  
Sam sticks his tongue out and scampers out of the kitchen.  
John looks at his son. "When we were looking through your computer...we found a few, emails that...well, we're a little worried about them. About you."  
Dean knows exactly what emails they're talking about, ones that Castiel had sent him before his privileges had been cut off. The emails had the positive side of  
not being tied to the xbox, so he could still talk to Castiel even when Sam wanted the game room. The downside was really his fault – he hadn't deleted them.  
"Now," Mary says, "we're not...insinuating anything. If this is just some...game that you boys were...involved in."  
Dean blushes. He can't believe they're talking about his sex life like this. About emails where Castiel had told him to jerk off, lick the come from his fingers, or  
use it to fuck himself open...he's trying to remember what else. What other things do his parents know about?  
"But this is some serious...adult stuff, and we just want to make sure that you're not...taking risks, getting in over your head." John says.  
"It's not a game." Castiel says, politely. "It's just...the way it is. How we are."  
"Dean?" his mother asks.  
"It's true." Dean nods, feeling really out of his depth. "It's...I'm gay, but...there's this thing as well. How I am, and how Cas is...the way we work."  
His parents look at him like they don't quite understand, then John says, "Well, as long as you're ok. Just, be careful, and, you can come to us, with anything –  
understand?" He still doesn't look convinced.  
"Yes."  
"No more of this silent victim routine? I want to know, whether it's your teachers, or kids at school..." he spares a glance at Castiel. "Anything."  
"I will." Dean promises. "But, there's nothing about Cas that you need to worry about."  
Still, his parents look worried, and Dean can't think of a way to explain to them that this is fine. It's just like...well, pretty much any other relationship. Give and  
take. Compromise. Mutual gratification.  
John look down into his coffee cup, then back up at Castiel, as if having braced himself, he is now ready to ask the important questions.  
"How old are you Castiel?"  
"Seventeen." Castiel says levelly.  
"And where do you live?"  
"With my brother, Luc. He owns Novak Electricals." Castiel cuts off enquiries about his parents by filling in his story in a few simple words. "My parents left me  
with him when they went to do missionary work. They never came back for me, even when they returned to the US. I'm going to college in the fall, I've saved up  
and I nearly have enough to get there myself and pay my tuition."  
"That's very brave of you." Mary says.  
Castiel looks at her, and decides then and there that she is the sweetest woman he has ever met. Almost an angel.  
"I don't think I'm brave...it was just the only way to do it. A lot of the Green Bank kids won't get to go to college...I didn't want that to happen to me."  
John digests this news. "So, you didn't meet Dean through school?"  
"No, sir I didn't. We met on xbox live."  
"Is that like a chatroom?"  
"...yes." Castiel says, not willing to try and explain technology at this particular moment. "We didn't even realise we lived so closely, not for a while anyway." He  
looks up to see how they're taking this, feels Dean move his hand so he can squeeze it, telling him that he's glad he's here. "Dean was completely sensible  
about it – he never took any risks."  
"So, how did you meet? The first time, in person?" Mary asks.  
Castiel glances at Dean, and, when the other boy makes no sign of censoring him, he says, "We...arranged a meeting. A way to meet without actually seeing  
each other. That's how the boys at Matherson found out about Dean being gay."  
"Where was this?" John asks, but his expression is thunderous, and Castiel thinks he probably already has some idea.  
"Dicks."  
"That pop up dive outside of town?" John almost shouts, "Dean?"  
"We couldn't go anywhere else." Dean says defensively.  
"That's not the point, you're lucky you didn't get hurt – they did a drugs raid there a week ago, three guys got arrested for possession of heroin. Never do  
something like that again, you hear me?" John says.  
"I won't." Dean promises easily. He'll never have to go somewhere like that again, not now that Castiel is with him, not afraid of being inferior anymore. If he had  
his way, he'll never leave Cas again. He'd follow him all the way to college if he had to, and sleep at the foot of his bed every night, just so long as Castiel  
wanted him.  
It scares him, that feeling of total need, but it's a relief too. He only wants this one thing. One thing, always.  
As if sensing his thoughts, Castiel moves his chair a little closer and puts his arm around Dean's waist, warm and secure. Dean looks up, and sees his parents  
watching him, his mother's face bearing a small smile, his dad's not betraying a thing, but not looking as worried as it had.  
"Ok, well, first thing, we're going to call the school, and you're going to give me the names of every kid, teacher or...janitor, that made a crack about you, or did  
anything to hurt you. And I'm going to report it to the principle, and the local paper – and we'll sue if we have to, because there's no way they're getting away with  
this."  
Dean feels a rush of gratitude, he's lucky he realises, to have parents who would do that for him. Who love him, no matter what.  
Then he remembers something.  
"Cas kind of already had a few of them...dealt with." He say.  
His dad looks alarmed again. "Like how?"  
Dean looks at Castiel, who speaks up. "I know someone at school who helped me out, for a minimal favour. He had a few of the bullies beaten and, because  
Dean's gym teacher made him change in a closet, I also had his car crushed."  
Dean coughs pointedly.  
"Attempted to have his car crushed." Castiel amends. "As it turns out, it was actually someone else's car. But...they're still looking. And I have every confidence  
in them."  
Dean's father actually looks like he might be having a stroke. His mother looks similarly shocked and somehow appalled.  
Then something remarkable happens.  
They both begin to laugh.  
"That is...priceless." John chuckles, "Ok kid, now I like you."  
"You're not mad?" Dean asks.  
"No, well, it wasn't the smartest thing to do...but, credit where it's due." John says.  
"When your father was in the marines, he caught someone stealing supplies, so he stole their things and replaced them with tins of pineapple chunks." Mary  
tells them.  
"That was actually not so funny." John says, sobering, "he didn't check it before we shipped out...went right into the action with no ammo and a satchel full of  
canned fruit."  
He pauses for a moment, then starts to laugh again.  
Castiel looks at Dean, and Dean looks back at him.  
"I think this is going very well, don't you?" Castiel says.

 

*Chapter 14*:  
Thank you so much reviewer, for your opinions on my interpretation of this relationship. Unfortunately, you left your review anonymously, so I thought I'd  
say here that, you are welcome to go and read any other SPN s/D fics if this one has disappointed you – there are hundreds, and highermagic's are far  
better than mine.  
Basically, I think I've finished this story, but, I wanted to tie it all up with a little ending chapter, so, here you go  
In the courtroom, Dean stands a good chance of feeling small - and yet he never does. All the people staring, he's always surprised, when he gets to his seat, at  
how strong he feels. Maybe it's because he knows he's right, doing the right thing, saying the right things, telling the truth. The truth is a powerful thing – it had  
changed his whole life, finding out who Angel was, finding out who he was.  
Maybe he feels strong because Castiel is always there, sitting in the public gallery.  
It's pretty classic – one kid and his parents against the big, bad school that persecuted their gay pupils for years before someone said anything. Hey, it's on TV  
all the time, in all those courtroom dramas, and on the news too. Only this time it was different, this time, it was him, and that made him incredibly nervous.  
Castiel catches his eye from across the room, and smiles, just a little smile, but Dean instantly relaxes. He knows what that smile feels like against his skin, and  
the thought that soon he'll step out of this place and feel it again goes a long way towards soothing him. Castiel looks gorgeous, wearing a blue suit and with his  
face showing a slight shadow of stubble.  
"Mr Winchester?"  
"Yes, your honour, " Dean stands up, looks momentarily at his client, a fifteen year old boy sitting next to his mom and dad.  
He's going to win this, for them.  
"I'm ready to begin."  
(-*-)  
Castiel loves watching him like this, he comes to every single one of Dean's court dates and every time he sees him stand up in his expensive suit and start  
making his case – he still feels a little shiver of pride. That's his blackdog up there, strong at last.  
College of course, had paid off for Dean, and his generous settlement from his school had helped him pay his way through to law school, while Castiel had  
finished his undergraduate work and gone on to develop software and hardware on his own time.  
Now Castiel has people to run his company for him, so he's free to visit the courthouse whenever he wants.  
Megan comes too sometimes, though she's hard to keep quiet during the long sessions, and most court days Castiel leaves her with her uncle Sam, or Luc.  
When he absolutely has to miss a trial, because things at AngelTech require his attention, he sits Dean down at the end of the day, when Megan is in bed,  
sleeping the sleep of the coco-ed and bedtime storied – and gets him naked, teasing him and making Dean tell him every, single, detail.  
Castiel frowns to himself. Their daughter is sleeping over with Sam's two daughters tonight, which makes for the promise of an interesting evening sans  
children (which is a little upsetting, if only because Megan has grown up so fast since they adopted her, and he feels at times that she's hurtling away from them,  
even though she is still only ten years old) – if his company can hold off on ringing him for a few hours (being on the front cover of Time (take that Dick Roman,  
smug little investment bankers don't stand a chance against innovative hardware developers) had raised his, and Angeltech's profile quite a lot, and the influx of  
new business was boggling Castiel's brain even as it filled his bank account).  
Castiel smiles at Dean, again, then stands up to leave, prepared to wait a while, and extract the details of the case from Dean at his leisure. There would be so  
much to hear about, and what was more fun than taking all the knowledge offered up by his willing, perfect partner, and rewarding him with pleasure that  
stripped him of his lawyerly mannerisms, and reduced him once more to the desperate teenager he'd once been?  
There were, perhaps living in the information age, but nothing could beat a little face to face, one on one time.  
Especially when it was with the man he loved.


End file.
